A Good Offense
by JoIsBishMyoga
Summary: Another year at Hogwarts, and, as always, last year's events have consequences... Sequel to The Best Defense. Not Yoma's, see my profile for links. Yu Yu HakushoHarry Potter crossover. Abandoned.
1. To All Appearances

Warnings: Violence, **HOMOSEXUALITY**, heterosexuality, foul language, teenagers behaving like teenagers, possibly a few oc's because Rowling skimped on names in Ginny's year...

Disclaimers: Harry Potter belongs to JKRowling, Warner Brothers, and Scholastic. Yu Yu Hakusho belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi, Shonen Jump, Studio Pierrot, and Funimation. Either might belong to other groups that I'm unaware of as well. Neither series belongs to me. I make no money off this. Suing me won't get you much more than a cat and a buggy computer, so I wouldn't bother if I were you.

Timeline: Takes place after "The Best Defense", which took place after "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" in Harry Potter, and the Dark Martial Arts Tournament in Yu Yu Hakusho. **READ "THE BEST DEFENSE" FIRST**. You won't understand what's going on here if you don't.

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STORY BEGINS-

CHAPTER BEGINS-

Ch. 1 - To All Appearances...

The first day of summer holidays in Surrey, England, came with pouring rain. The gardens of Little Whinging turned into a soggy morass by dawn, and by afternoon, the storm drains began to overflow into the streets.

At Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry Potter (Boy-Who-Lived, savior of the wizarding world, and all-around celebrity), rooted through the mud of the back garden, pulling weeds. His oversized hand-me-downs clung to his skin, streaked with muck, and his ratty shoes were soaked through. His drenched hair hung in his eyes, plastered over the lightning-bolt scar that had made him famous.

Had Harry been wearing Muggle glasses, rather than wizarding ones with a built-in Impervious charm to keep the water away, he would have been blind in the driving rain. As it was, he was merely soaked, cold, and miserable.

Still, being outside, even on a day like today, was infinitely better than being _inside_ with his aunt and cousin. The house had a limited number of places to get away from Dudley, no place at all to escape Dudley's whining, and nobody in the household (including Harry) liked it when Harry left his room. But you could only stare at four walls for so long before going completely stir-crazy.

Not that a single day was enough to cause that. But a single day with nothing to do but stare at the rain and think about the events of the past few weeks...

_I am NOT thinking about it_, Harry told himself firmly.

And he wasn't. Really. He was thinking about how wet he was, and how gardening wasn't all that satisfying, unless perhaps you were his classmate Neville, or Kur... _not thinking about it._ And really his grades in Herbology should be better than they were, considering that Aunt Petunia seemed to ignore her garden in order to have something to keep Harry out of her way.

A brown owl, not one Harry recognized, interrupted his thoughts, fluttering to a silent landing next to him with a plastic-wrapped letter clutched in its talons.

"Oh no, no, not here..." Harry muttered, jabbing his trowel into the mud. _Aunt Petunia will be furious!_ He grabbed the letter, hastily shooed the owl off, and stuffed the letter into his pocket. Maybe the neighbors hadn't seen it...

Aunt Petunia opened the kitchen window a crack, scowling. "What are you doing?" she snapped.

"Weeding, Aunt Petunia," Harry answered, eyes firmly on the pile of scraggly, uprooted weeds.

The answer didn't seem to satisfy. "Was that one of those... _birds_... out here?"

So, she'd seen it. "Owls, you mean?" Harry asked sweetly.

She hissed. "Get in here!" Harry quickly stood and obeyed, kicking off his muddy shoes as he entered the house. Aunt Petunia slammed the door closed behind him, glaring up at Harry. "How _dare_ they send those... those _things_ here in broad daylight!"

As if she'd take it well if the owls arrived at night. Ha.

"Don't smirk at me like that, boy! Go! Up to your room!"

Harry gingerly hurried upstairs, anticipating the shout of...

"And don't drip on the rug!"

... that followed him. He ducked into his room, locked the door, and changed, leaving his soggy gardening clothes piled on his bathtowel. Better there than on the floor, making Aunt Petunia more furious. He could sneak the towel into the next load of laundry. Then Harry pulled the letter from his wet jeans and unwrapped it from the plastic.

His name was written over the parchment in a spidery, hasty scrawl, and it was addressed only to "Little Whinging, Surrey". It lacked the street, house number, and the wizarding convention of addressing things to specific rooms in one's house. _Strange..._ Harry thought, before abruptly recognizing the handwriting as belonging to one of his best friends, Hermione Granger. (Which explained the plastic wrap: Hermione was practical like that.) The spidery look was due to a Muggle ballpoint pen, rather than the quills Hermione preferred, and overall it looked as if she'd written it in a hurry. Harry tore the envelope open, pulling out a letter and a newspaper clipping. He read the letter first.

_Harry -_

_Read this NOW! Send Hedwig with your thoughts ASAP!_

_- Hermione_

What on earth...? Hermione never wrote like that, just as she never used Muggle pens. She had a tendency to babble when panicked or emotional, even in writing. Harry unfolded the newspaper clipping, most of a page in size, and found a picture of Draco Malfoy centered below a blaring headline.

_HOGWARTS STUDENT VANISHES FROM PLATFORM 9 3/4_

_Aurors baffled_

_by Rita Skeeter_

_16-year-old Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts student and heir to the Malfoy estate, never arrived home last night. The Aurors division has been mobilized, but no leads have surfaced._

_"We are still gathering evidence," an Auror informed the press, "but we've found little to indicate foul play. It's as if he walked into Muggle London with nothing but his wand and the clothes on his back. However, we'll be interviewing witnesses throughout the week."_

_"I don't understand," a tearful classmate told this reporter. "He was just fine on the train. A little tired, but we all were... OWLs and all... why would he go into Muggle London? I don't think he even knows where the entrance to it is!"_

_Another classmate scoffed, "Draco? Among Muggles? Hardly seems likely to me."_

_The Malfoy family is offering a reward for any information that leads to the recovery of their son._

Harry slowly set the clipping down, ignoring the picture's sneering as he smoothed the page out flat on his desk. _Kurama_, he thought. _It has to be Kurama's doing. _

Dammit, he hadn't wanted to think about Kurama today!

Kurama Minamino: one of the Defense professor's special students, brought with her from Japan and integrated into the school system... in Kurama's case, integrated into Slytherin House, for reasons that were far too obvious in retrospect.

After all, where else would a demon be Sorted, except into Slytherin?

But what had the fox-demon done? He'd gone to far too much trouble to claim Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as his territory, to help both Harry and Malfoy get out of the Forbidden Forest intact last week, to turn around and... do what? Kill Malfoy? Kidnap him?

Harry pried up a loose floorboard in his room, where he kept a few necessities for occasions when his aunt and uncle got upset and confiscated his wizarding supplies. Pulling out a sheet of parchment, quill, and inkpot, Harry set them over Malfoy's disgusted photograph. _What can I say? What _should_ I say?_ he wondered, tapping the quilltip against the parchment.

_Hermione -_

_I don't know what to make of this. It's great that he's out of our hair, but that was going to happen anyway because of summer hols. This is really weird._

_Malfoy didn't come and bother us on the train, but we saw him, right? And pretty much all the Slytherins were acting weird like that after OWLs. Does it make any sense for him to run off? Especially into Muggle London?_

_- Harry_

_P.S - I thought Rita wasn't writing anymore?_

It didn't feel like enough, but some things just didn't belong in Owl Post. Harry gave the letter to Hedwig, getting an affectionate nip for the trouble, and sent her flying away.

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Draco woke to a ceiling of square white tiles, crisscrossed with inexplicable white-painted pipes. "What...?"

A woman's voice answered him. "Finally. I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."

Draco bolted upright, gaze snapping to the voice. A long-haired Asian woman in Muggle clothing leaned against the jamb of an unnervingly plain door. She seemed oddly tall... no, Draco was sitting on a thin mattress on the floor.

He glanced down. Yes, he was on the floor. Yes, he was intact. And yes, the room was as Muggle as the woman's clothing. This wasn't what he'd expected. "Who are you?" he asked, fixing a sharp stare on the woman. "Where am I? Where's Kurama?"

The woman took a drag on her cigarette and blew a ring of smoke, eyes resting lazily on him. "My name is Kuwabara Shizuru. You're in my home. And as far as I know, Kurama-san isn't back in Japan yet."

"Kuwabara?" That Gryffindor idiot? Draco didn't see any family resemblence, but...

"Kuwabara-san," she corrected. "Be polite."

Draco ignored that. "Why am I here? I'm supposed to be at Kurama's. Not with some... some..." He gestured vaguely at her.

"Muggle woman?" Shizuru filled in, blowing more smoke at him. Draco waited, until she added, "Tough luck. Kurama-san sent you here, so here you stay until other arrangements are made." She cast a measuring look over Draco, and straightened, stubbing out her cigarette in an ashtray by the door. "Which, I think, will not be long. So." She bowed. "Welcome to Japan, Malfoy-san. You've got about two hours to sleep before we begin the day. I'd recommend you take them."

With that, she bowed out, leaving Draco with several nagging questions, the foremost of which was,

_Why the hell didn't I know that Kuwabara was a mudblood?_

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Botan's oar-bubble vanished, setting Kurama, Keiko, and the three Tantei's luggage in the well-swept courtyard of Genkai's temple. It seemed untouched by the ten months that had passed since Kurama and the Tantei left it. Deep shadows stretched across the flagstones, the tori'i gate at the entrance framing a crisp morning sky. Long-forgotten, the distant hum of the city floated up the mountainside.

Keiko stretched, taking a deep breath of the air. "Mm, it feels so good to be home!"

Kurama made a soft sound of agreement, as Botan hopped to the ground and put away her oar.

Beaming with renewed energy despite the jet lag, Keiko grabbed up her trunk. "I'm going to go home and see my parents. See you all soon!"

Botan waved. "Later!" she called out, as Keiko bowed perfunctorily and hurried away. Once Keiko reached the tori'i gate and was out of earshot, Botan's hand and smile dropped. She glanced at Kurama.

"How was your first trip out?" Kurama asked quietly.

"Fine," Botan replied. "Malfoy-san is heavier than the souls I'm used to, but we made it intact."

"Good."

Botan paused. "Are you going to check on him?"

Kurama shook his head. "No," he replied, picking up his own trunk. "Let him sweat a bit. He'll be fine with Shizuru-san, and I have my own family to get to."

"But Kurama-san! Shizuru-san has guests...!"

Kurama allowed himself a thin smile. "I know."

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_Cheap excuse for a foothill_, Hiei thought, as he reached the summit of Ben Nevis sometime in the dark of night. _I can hardly believe this is the highest point in the whole country._ But the maps had claimed so, and Hiei had hoped for a decent vantage point to plan his route... A shifting in his scarf, and his cat, Yuki (now nearly a year old) poked her head out, rumbling softly.

Hiei tilted his head away from her whiskers and pulled the warding headband from his Jagan eye. The lid lifted slowly, then snapped wide, violet blazing. A haze of violet-black light overlaid the dim view of land, sky, and stars, then tore;

_rugged mountains shrouded in mist misty moors rolling away dotted with villages cities by the bay in the bay across the isles and magicmagicmagic everywhere..._

It was said that those few who survived the Jagan implantation went mad with the sights. It was said a Jagan's master could see entire nations from ground level, if he had the power to spare.

Hiei stared out from Ben Nevis, over most of Northern Scotland and into the Hebrides, and saw only a haze of iron-tinged violet.

In his ear, Yuki's rumbling grew into a growl. Claws pricked through Hiei's jacket.

Hiei turned south, towards Ireland. The violet haze spread here, too.

That shouldn't be right. The Jagan-tinted haze of magic shouldn't be spread so evenly... unless... Hiei looked down. The magic sprayed under his feet, spattered like water and trailing away over the summit.

Figured. Somebody had done a major working of magic here recently. Hiei crouched low to the ground, sniffing warily. Iron. Iron scent and a liquid pattern. _Blood_ magic, then? But not that recent. How old?

Hiei twisted slowly on the balls of his feet, scanning the ground. The puddle trailed in drunken arcs across the grass, smearing in patches, collecting in blurry lines at spots, and then... vanishing some twenty feet away from Hiei. He stood, focused tightly on the gap.

It was a gaping, perfectly round void in the center of the spray marks, where a physical puddle would have collected. Somehow, the magic had been sucked away here. Perhaps...

Malfoy's amulet?

No. That was too convenient. But then who? And why?

CHAPTER ENDS-

TBC

A/N -

urgh. I am horrible at journalistic writing.

I wrote the Kuwabara kids as orphans before I knew they actually mentioned parents once in the manga (Vol. 19). They're characterized (what little characterization they have) as being very inattentive (I believe the phrase went along the lines of "Mom won't notice if I have a corpse in my room for a few days"). I am ignoring them.

The translation charms remove -san, etc., when working from Japanese to English. They do not add -san, etc., when working from English to Japanese. When the Tantei are speaking in Japanese, I transliterate using -san.

yes, it's short, I know. We'll kick into a higher gear after establishing things.


	2. As Muggles

Warnings and disclaimers at start of Ch. 1.

A/N's -

- Ben Nevis is the highest point in the United Kingdom. It's in Scotland, about halfway between Glasgow and the northern tip, near the west coast. From calculations made in the Harry Potter Lexicon, it's probably fairly close to Hogwarts... thirty to fifty miles west.

- queue is British for "line of people". America and Britain: two peoples divided by a common language.

- I'd apologize for the delay, but this chapter's been driving me nuts.

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CHAPTER STARTS -

Ch. 2 - As Muggles

A sleepless hour after Shizuru left the room, Draco gave up on trying to sleep. It felt like midnight, but the room faced east and the morning sun shone right in Draco's eyes. So he got up, the thin carpet rough under his sock-clad feet, and peered out the window.

Blocky white buildings stretched as far as the eye could see. Draco jerked away. _Is that... a Muggle city?_ He peeked again. The view hadn't changed, though now Draco noticed black wires trailing randomly among the buildings, brown poles (he'd seen those from the train sometimes, hadn't he?), shining lines of windows, a set of flimsy-looking white furniture on a thick-walled balcony across the way...

_And I thought our train stations were ugly_, he thought, edging away again._ Merlin, are Muggles BLIND?_

There were no curtains to block the offending view, though there was a set of blinds folded snugly near the top of the window. Draco tugged at them, but they wouldn't budge. What did the Muggles do, glue them into place? He gave up with a huff, and left the room.

The door led to a short, white-walled hallway, with three more doors lining it, and a gap at the end leading into a larger room. Loud snoring came from the larger room, as did the scent of strange foods cooking.

_Breakfast, or no Muggles? Breakfast, or..._ Draco's stomach growled.

Something clattered in the kitchen. "Morning," Shizuru's voice called.

Caught. Draco inched forward, into a bland living room, and replied, "Morn...ing..." he trailed off in faint horror. A man slept sprawled on the couch, head thrown back and mouth open, snoring. His hair, a violent shade of purple, stuck straight up in a crest, the sides of his head shaved. He wore almost nothing, just pants and a fur-collared, sleeveless shirt, and... Draco sniffed discreetly... he _reeked._

"Oh, it's you," Shizuru said, decidedly nonplussed. Draco pulled his eyes away from the freakish Muggle, to see Shizuru standing at a counter in a tiny kitchenette, stirring something in a pan. Her gaze dropped to the man on the couch. "I'll introduce you later. When he's sobered up." She pointed towards a gurgling blue device near her. "Tea's in the pot, and breakfast..." she poked at the stuff in the pan with an oversized pair of chopsticks, "... will be ready in a few minutes."

She couldn't possibly expect Draco to eat with... with that noise, and that stench, and... and... it would be like eating with Hagrid! A _hungover_ Hagrid!

Draco made a strangled sound in his throat.

"Come and wash up," Shizuru added, turning away, "and you can set the table."

He could... "_What_?" Draco squawked.

"Set the table," Shizuru repeated, as if it was normal.

"You can't possibly expect _me_ to... to... that's something House Elves do!" Draco blurted.

Shizuru paused, then set her chopsticks aside, turned a knob near the pan, and stalked out of the kitchenette. She strode right up to Draco, looming over him. "You," she said flatly, "have greatly inconvenienced us all, with your imbecilic stunt in Britain. I don't particularly care whose orders you were under, or whether your life was at risk or not. Now we're stuck protecting you, or blowing Kurama-san's secrets to the enemy. Normally, you would be treated as an honored guest, but we didn't invite you to be an idiot or to consider blackmail. We're doing Kurama-san a great favor, keeping you here, and it's not a favor we can afford for a freeloader. You will contribute to your keep, or you won't get fed. Putting a few dishes on a table is not too much to ask, considering the price of groceries."

Draco found his voice. "But...!"

"I think we'll go out today, and you can see just how difficult it is to put food in front of you," she added, eyeing him. "Then perhaps you'll be grateful all I'm asking you to do is carry three plates across two meters."

"GRATEFUL!" Draco exploded. "For what! Slaving to some Muggle? Merlin knows why Kurama dumped me in this pit, but it wasn't to do Muggle work!" The corner of Shizuru's eye twitched, as Draco thought of something else, and triumphantly added, "He promised to protect me! You can't do anything to me without going up against _him_!" Take that, Muggle bitch.

She raised an eyebrow. "So sure of that?"

"Yes!" _I think._

Nothing changed in Shizuru's gaze. "Then go get changed for breakfast. We're going shopping afterwards anyway." And she turned back to the kitchen without a backwards glance.

Draco smirked. Draco: 1, Muggle: 0.

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Kurama set the last of his schoolbooks onto the shelf over his desk, finding the leather-bound tomes looked oddly right against the white-painted plywood and chrome. He shoved the emptied trunk against the foot of his bed and sat on the mattress, next to his seed kit.

The kit had been barely adequate this year. For work, yes, it had been fine, but for teaching... he needed a lot more.

But first things first. Kurama reached across to the phone on his nightstand, and punched in a number.

"Hello, Shizuru-san?"

_"I was wondering when I'd hear from you. How was your trip?"_

"Fine, fine. Did you get your delivery all right?"

_"Gods, yes, and he's every bit the arrogant little shit you said he was._"

"Eh? Was he that rude? I apologize, Shizuru-san."

_"He just needs to be set straight about a few details of reality_," Shizuru replied easily. _"It's no problem, doing so. I just have one question."_

"Yes?"

_"How intact did you want him, come September?"_

"Shizuru-san, please tell me you're joking." Silence greeted this, and Kurama sighed. "I want him nominally loyal and willing to keep quiet. I don't particularly care past that."

_"I'll use my discretion, then?"_

"If you would, please."

_"Excellent."_

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There had been nothing but horrible Muggle clothing in the dresser of Draco's room, which made sense since he was trapped in the Muggle world. He couldn't be seen in his wizard robes. But about the only good thing that could be said of the garments was that they were clean. The denim trousers clung unpleasantly to his legs; the shirts were large enough for comfort, but the sleeves too short and the collar too large for propriety. At least he'd managed to find one that wasn't garishly emblazoned with stripes or strange logos.

Breakfast had been worse, with no proper silverware or food, and a third member of the household introduced. The kid, Rinku, hadn't bothered to hide his snickering as Draco had been forced to stab his food with one of the chopsticks provided, and eat the rice with a strange sort of soup ladle. Stupid Muggle brat. At least he'd been left behind with the drunkard while Shizuru dragged Draco shopping.

Shopping, however, turned out to be worse than the clothes, the brat, and the breakfast combined. The streets were packed with Muggles, many staring at Draco ("It's the hair. Blond," Shizuru had explained), all horribly, horribly... Muggle. Draco had no more fitting adjective in his vocabulary. Noisy horseless carriages, barely recognizeable as carriages and spitting thin white smoke from their back ends, zoomed past at terrifying speeds, almost as fast as brooms. Cacophony pretending to be music blared from small black boxes in people's hands, on porches, from stores. An impossible number of madmen talked into more black boxes, nodding their heads and gesturing as if speaking to actual people.

And Shizuru, the evil, evil Muggle, seemed to take an almost Slytherin glee in pointing out _every - single - demon_ who came into view. There seemed to be another one every couple of blocks.

"Look," she murmured yet again, as they escaped the mob at the greengrocer's, arms laden with bags of vegetables. "The fat guy across the street. A mouth for every chin, and taloned hands."

Draco bit back a whimper, but couldn't help but look, peering as if he was looking for flaws in a gemstone. The extra mouths and claws were clearly visible, though somewhat ghostly-looking, to such a view. Now she would tell him...

"The second mouth has venomous fangs. The more mouths that develop after that, the larger the prey that kind can eat. That fellow can manage three humans our size a day."

... the gory details.

"That type's surprisingly fast on its feet. The talons don't do much for actual slicing, but they puncture. Dig in and grip well. Sometimes the victim's lucky enough to get a main artery or their brain or heart pierced, and manage to die before they start getting eaten."

Draco's stomach lurched. _I'm starting to wish I hadn't eaten breakfast..._

Shizuru led him around a corner, and they left the multi-mouthed demon behind. "Of course," she added, sounding something like a tour guide, "it's not all strangers. Before we reach the butcher shop, I'll warn you not to stare. In fact, don't do anything offensive at all. Imada-san is the best butcher in the area, and you're not going to risk getting me banned from her shop, even if she has two horns."

_Two horns... best butcher... what...?_

"And keep an eye out for her granddaughter. The baby's too young to know not to bite large chunks out of people's legs if she's hungry."

Draco stopped in the middle of the street. "What sort of insane place _is _this!" he sputtered.

Shizuru turned to face him, unmoved by his plight. "This is a place where four plates in the Earth's crust meet. This is a place where the barrier between our world and the demons' is little more than a fisherman's net, artificial and prone to holes. And this is a place, Malfoy-san, where the wizards live as Muggles, among Muggles, because they are hiding from something much worse."

"Live... as Muggles?" Draco repeated weakly. It couldn't be. It just... couldn't...

Shizuru began walking again. "Most of the demons here live peacefully, hidden under glamours and working jobs... but there's a sizeable percentage who eat humans exclusively, and even more who prefer the taste. And almost every demon you see has a criminal record, anywhere from petty theft to drunk-and-disorderly to assault. Chuu's..." _Chuu!_ Draco thought. _That creepy guy snoring on the couch was a demon!_ "... got a record of drunken brawling... ah, we're here." And she pulled Draco through the open door into the mass of Muggles in the butcher shop.

If anything, the crowd here was worse than at the greengrocer's. People squeezed past each other with downcast eyes and extensive repeats of "excuse me, excuse me", nodding in lieu of bowing, snatching up packets of fish like they were the most-wanted wizarding toy at Christmas.

Shizuru ducked through the crowd, murmuring the same phrase, pulling Draco along in her wake. He cringed as he thumped into Muggles regardless, shopping baskets jabbing into his stomach and thumping along his spine. They reached a large white bin filled with more packets, and Shizuru reached into it.

"Malfoy-san, do you like mackerel?"

Draco dodged an incoming basket, nearly knocking over a little girl. "No."

"Tough. It's on sale." And she grabbed two of the last three packets, nimbly dodging another woman's hand, and broke free of the crowd, only to dive into another one leading to the registers.

Draco guessed that there were about fifty people waiting, and the queue was crawling forward at a snail's pace. He decided to simply concentrate on not getting too bruised and ignore how long this was taking.

"Ah, good morning, Imada-san," Shizuru said, as they reached the register.

Draco couldn't help it. He stared. Shizuru had mentioned the two horns. She hadn't mentioned that they arced out from where the woman's... demon's... ears should have been, nor had she mentioned the heavy jowls or sabertooth fangs... the gray hair streaked with white... the age-spotted, taloned hands tapping at the register keys...

Shizuru kicked Draco's ankle. "Manners!" she hissed at him.

The demoness' rheumy eyes were fixed on him, behind thick bifocal lenses. "G--good morning... Imada?" The eyes hardened, and Draco quickly remembered. "-san?" The demoness relaxed slightly, and she finished the transaction, pouring Shizuru's change into a tray and bagging the meat.

The walk home was a repeat of the trip out. Draco learned much more than he had ever cared to know about demons and Japanese Muggle culture. By the time they reached the front door of Shizuru's apartment, she was smiling grimly.

"Now, then, Draco-san... Kurama-san's protection doesn't extend to protecting you from running out and getting yourself eaten. It also has no bearing on whether or not I let you remain in the house while I call Kurama-san to come fetch you, if it becomes necessary to kick you out." She paused to get her keys out, jamming one into the door. "Lot of demons would love to munch on a magical little morsel without repercussions from the locals, and a foreigner suits the bill nicely." She pushed the door open with her hip, gesturing him inside. "You're safe here, or with one of us, but I wouldn't risk going out alone if I were you." Kicking off her shoes, she stepped up onto the wooden floor of the living room, leaving Draco in the sunken entryway, gaping after her.

_Oh Merlin..._ Draco thought. _This isn't a safehouse, it's a prison!_

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_Oniisan -_

_You're probably very surprised to get a letter so soon, but big things are happening. _

_I don't know if you've seen the paper or not, but Draco-san has gone missing. Almost everyone in The Three Broomsticks was talking about it. They say the last time children disappeared from the platform, it was You-Know-Who. It's very odd because he kidnapped Muggleborn children and Draco-san's pureblood, but Oniisan, they're so frightened!_

_Genkai-shihan says the Aurors will be talking to everyone who was there. That automatically excludes us, and you, but they'll probably come looking for all of us once they finish with the witnesses. Don't make things difficult for them, please?_

_Kazuma says hello. He found a strong line of magic west of London and is following it. We'll keep you updated if he finds anything._

_Love,_

_Yukina_

Hiei read the last paragraph with a disbelieving snort. Kuwabara had probably said something more along the lines of 'tell that shrimp not to go falling off a mountain up there'. As for the letter itself...

Yukina knew perfectly well that Draco had discovered Kurama's demonic nature over a week ago. She'd seen Draco in the same room as Youko Kurama. She was certainly astute enough to connect that event with Draco's disappearance, and to mark Kurama as the culprit. And, if Kurama had done something this major, she had to know that Hiei would've been aware of it, and perhaps even in on the plot.

So, reading between the lines... _Hiei, I have to warn you. Draco's disappearance is getting blown out of proportion. Prepare your story and don't run or hide, because if they suspect anything there's sure to be trouble._

Hiei allowed himself a half-smile, refolding the letter and tucking it safely into an inner pocket. _Thank you, Yukina._

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TBC

A/N's -

- wow. Keeping the timelines straight in two time zones is a headache.

- interesting factoid: when using the telephone, American callers wait until the other person has acknowledged that they've picked up the phone, and speak second. Japanese callers take the sound of picking up as the acknowledgement, and speak first.

- another interesting factoid. Japanese groceries deliberately understock, so no food is wasted. If you don't get there early and fight the crowds, you're going to be lucky to get the worst remnants of the most unpopular foods. On the other hand, you can get good deals on perfectly good items like strawberries if they're misshapen.

- about Chuu: one episode, they indicated he was human. The next, they indicated he was demon. So I don't know which is right.


	3. Meetings

Warnings, disclaimers, blah.

A/N's -

- no apologies for the delay. I've become an aunt.

- if Kurama's father (not stepfather) has a name in canon, feel free to tell me. Just check the reviews to make sure I haven't been told a half-dozen times already, please?

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CHAPTER STARTS -

Ch. 3 - Meetings

Kurama spent most of Wednesday in the crawlspace of the attic, digging through his father's magic trunk. The trunk had more enchantments on it than the lock Shiori had known about, as Kurama realized after pulling out several incomplete and damaged wands. Some looked like they might have exploded sometime within the fifteen years since the trunk had been sealed by his father, but the other contents of the trunk were untouched by this accident.

_Odd..._ Kurama thought, peering at the one that looked to have blown up inside the trunk. A singed hair poked from the damaged end, baby-fine and faintly... red? He teased the hair loose from the wand cavity, until it fell free onto his palm, a nearly-invisible line scarcely three centimeters long.

A baby hair.

Kurama grabbed another of the damaged wands, rubbing at the charred end until the core poked free, and drawing it out, discovering a second baby hair.

"You little bastard..." he whispered, staring at the two hairs. Two red hairs, from a magical beast in the form of a human infant; the man had used his own possessed son's hair, probably from a hairbrush, in wandmaking experiments. It was... it was...

It was a move that Kurama would never get to deliver payback on. He tossed the unfinished wands aside, dropping them in the folds of a shopkeeper's robe he'd found earlier, and continued to rummage through his father's wizarding possessions.

A cardboard box of postcards and moving photographs, few from Japan... a Chinese treasure ship in a bottle... a pair of papier-mache dolls, boxed with three origami ones, all of which started to dance clumsily when Kurama opened their box... a delicate wooden flute, the holes a bit misshapen to Kurama's inexpert eye... a Christmas gift: a Muggle ladies' watch...

_Ah-ha._

Tucked along the side of the trunk was a roll of thick, navy-blue fabric. Kurama pulled it free, shaking it open to reveal an unmended shop apron. A store's name and address were emblazoned in stark white kanji, indicating a district just two train stops away.

"Let's see where you worked when you weren't experimenting, old man..."

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By Wednesday, the rain had dried up. With Dudley firmly ensconced in front of the downstairs telly, addicted to his newest shoot-em-up video game, Harry took the opportunity to slip out of the house.

The small park was empty, too muddy from the storm for the local housewives to bring their children to play, though the pavement and play equipment was dry and getting hot from the sun. Harry sat on a swing with a good view of the roads, just in case any of Dudley's friends got him out of the house, and stared blindly at the dull scene.

Just two more summers. He could actually count down the weeks if he bothered: seven-and-a-half if he got to spend August at The Burrow again. That wasn't so bad. Hogwarts started up again in that much time... and going the other direction, they'd begun OWL review in Defense. They'd been weeks out of Genkai's test...

Two weeks wasn't really much time for Harry to notice anything unusual in the Prophet, but that was an unreliable source. And he'd only had a few days to try to hear the Muggle news. But Voldemort seemed to be... what was the word Harry wanted? Invisible? Inactive? Surely he hadn't gone away. He'd been equally 'inactive' throughout last year, and look what that had meant. Draco and dem...

But that plan had failed, and Malfoy had vanished. So...

It took a few moments for Harry to register the short, dark-haired figure walking up the road from the general direction of the supermarket, carrying a bagful of groceries, a newspaper tucked under one arm. The boy wasn't any of Dudley's gang, but there was still something oddly familiar about him... then the boy turned the corner near the park, his face appearing from behind the groceries, and...

"Yuusuke?!"

... Harry nearly fell off his swing.

The Japanese boy raised a hand. "Yo."

"What are you...?" _What is he doing here? Didn't he go back to Japan? With... whoever was on the train... everybody but Genkai and the twins?_

Yuusuke walked into the park, gaze flicking around. "Nice to meet you too, Potter."

_What is he looking for...?_ Harry instinctively followed his gaze. Nothing. The neighborhood was empty.

"Relax," Yuusuke said, grabbing another swing and taking a seat. "You aren't going the way of Malfoy." ("_The way of"... he knows? _ Harry thought. _Kurama DID do it, then...?_)"I got hired out to old Figg for the summer. Something about arthritis, an old broken leg, and a friend's brat being cheaper in room and board than hiring ten different delivery and house care services."

Harry blinked, his train of thought blessedly derailed. "_You_ got hired."

"Yup."

"To Mrs. Figg."

"Yup."

"As a live-in errand boy."

Yuusuke grinned. "That's the story. Load of bull, isn't it?"

_No kidding_. "So what's the real story?" Harry asked.

"Genkai made a deal with some Order. Figg and I try to spy on each other, everybody gets to keep an eye on you, and you get to interrogate me about Kurama if you want."

Harry gaped. _He did not just say... yes he did... spying on Figg? And ME? And..._ "You're my _babysitter?_"

Yuusuke snorted. "I ain't nobody's babysitter. Pay attention to the last part. Ku-ra-ma."

Harry didn't want to think about this. "What about him?" he asked warily.

A shrug. "I knew what he was from the start." He rubbed a hand over his nose. "So you got questions or anything..."

"No," Harry said automatically.

"Suit yourself," Yuusuke said. "But if you change your mind, I'm at Figg's." Harry grunted in acknowledgement, and Yuusuke stood, shifting his groceries. "I've got stuff that's going to melt. I'll see you around, Potter."

Harry stared after him as he left the park.

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In the end, Kurama had to cast a Locator charm to find the shop... and when he did, the charm led him to a tiny, traditionally-styled wooden shack tucked far in the back of an alley, behind a fire escape. Thick layers of magic pushed warningly at him as he approached, tingling unpleasantly; no doubt anti-demon wards, reacting to Kurama's demon soul. But his human blood kept the effects tolerable, and he reached the door without injury.

The shop was far larger and cleaner inside than it had seemed from the alley, though this wasn't immediately apparent. Everything from tiny laquered boxes to massive _tansu_ wardrobes sat in piles upon the bare floor, with scarcely enough room between to walk. Wooden carvings lay on shelves and rafters, ranging from cake molds to kitchen deities to lamps, these last lit, though they did little to cut the shadows among the goods. The thick scent of fresh sawdust hung in the air.

Kurama edged carefully between the stacks of merchandise. Surely there was a shopkeeper in here? A register? He looked up to the corners of the store searchingly... ah. A large mirror hung at an angle near the ceiling, showing most of the shop floor. Kurama's gaze flicked over his own reflection, then to the edge of the mirror; a short, balding man in a traditional blue shopcoat and bandanna stood behind a counter in the far corner of the store, holding a baton and watching Kurama with ill-concealed, wary amusement.

"I'm a customer," Kurama said, raising his hands in surrender, gaze firmly on the shopkeeper.

"Welcome to the shop, then," the man said. The baton didn't move. Kurama strongly suspected that it was his version of a wand. "What do you need today?"

Kurama twitched a hand towards the counter, tilting his head in question. "If I may...?"

The man snorted. Kurama interpreted it to mean that he was being silly, so he dropped his hands and manuvered through the stacks to the counter. "I require a new trunk," Kurama began, smiling politely at the shopkeeper.

He nodded. "Yes?"

"Yes. A medicine chest..." how to explain the next part? "... dimensionally overlapping a travel trunk. So that both occupy the same space, and I can store items in each," Kurama clarified.

"Dimensional overlap?" the shopkeeper echoed. "That isn't cheap."

"I can pay." If necessary, he could send the bill to Koenma and let the brat choke on his pacifier.

The shopkeeper eyed him carefully, taking in the quality of Kurama's clothing (he'd been careful to wear one of his nicer outfits) and his calm assurance, and weighing that against his youth and magical aura. Then, with a soft _hrrumph_, he reached under the counter and brought out a tray of fist-sized boxes.

"Let me show you the available options for the dimensional overlap," he said, considerably more polite as he tapped the side of the tray with his baton. A scroll of heavy rice paper and a brush appeared on the counter, the brush hovering and (from what Kurama could figure) prepared to take notes about his order.

As the shopkeeper demonstrated the different ways he could make a trunk and a medicine chest overlap, Kurama made appreciative sounds and nodded in the right places. Eventually he selected an inexpensive model, which he considered the most elegant: a trunk's flip-up style lid coupled with a medicine chest's small, square side drawers, both sharing the same space, the drawers nonexistant to the trunk's storage compartment and vice versa.

Kurama continued to add details, the shopkeeper nodding and making suggestions, filling in details of wood and stain (was he going to store magical, volatile, and/or delicate materials inside?), drawers (ten by ten, and ten compartments each), type of lock (a key, since the available spells would either react badly to the translation charms, or lock out the other Tantei), completion date, and finally...

"Name?"

"Minamino Shuiichi," Kurama replied.

The shopkeeper paused, glancing up to meet Kurama's eyes. "Ichiro-san's little boy?" he asked.

Kurama raised an eyebrow. "If he worked here fifteen years ago, yes."

The shopkeeper nodded. "Did he ever get that wand experiment of his to work?"

"You don't know?" Kurama asked. _Was I working with an untested procedure?_ "He did."

The man gave a low whistle. "I never thought... it must've been just before he died, then."

"Must have," Kurama agreed, deliberately calm. _I could have been blasted sky-high..._ He pulled out his wallet. "What's the total?"

"60,000 yen, half up front."

Kurama fished out the bills, shuffling quickly through them to the right amount and setting them on the counter. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Likewise."

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The passage to Ireland had been rough, the cargo ship splashing chilly sea spray into Hiei's face, soaking him through, and a stiff wind trying to blow him off the rooftop where he'd stowed away. Upon docking, he darted down the mooring ropes and away, with none of the Muggles the wiser. It had, perhaps, not been the wisest decision to sneak across the Irish Sea, but there was no ferry and Hiei didn't feel like overpaying some curious fisherman.

He took his sword out from under his heavy coat, unlacing the canvas he'd wrapped around it for protection, and checked it over carefully, looking for damp patches that would rust, and salt that would corrode the weapon. He found none. The canvas had done its job.

Yuki poked her tiny, bedraggled head out of Hiei's coat, sneezing pitifully before turning a betrayed, deeply offended glare on Hiei.

Hiei shook out the canvas, damp in patches, and ran his hands over it, warming it through. Then he scooped the half-grown cat out of his pocket and dumped her on the cloth, rubbing it like a towel over her. The cat put up with this treatment in baleful silence, glare deepening.

"You aren't the only one who's wet," Hiei told her. Yuki continued to stare at him with all the offended dignity a cat could muster. Flicking his scarf off, Hiei dried it with a burst of steam, bundled the cat up, and sped off towards Belfast and the wizarding enclaves there, leaving the canvas behind.

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On Thursday, at the completely disreputable hour of just-after-dinner, a knock sounded at the Dursley's door. Harry, still on the stairs heading back to his room, paused as Petunia hurried irritably to the door, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

"Who on earth...?" she muttered under her breath, heels clacking on the linoleum, not noticing Harry in the shadows of the stairwell as she pulled open the door and peeked out. "Yes?" A woman answered, voice too indistinct for Harry to hear the words, but there was a definite Cockney accent sharpening it. Aunt Petunia flinched, breath catching in her teeth. "Just a minute," she answered, shutting the door too hurriedly.

"Boy!" she hissed up the stairs, piercing eyes focusing on Harry. "Get down here! Now!"

Harry made his way warily down the staircase. On the lowest step, once he was within reach, Aunt Petunia's hand snapped out and clamped on his ear. She yanked him the rest of the way to the ground floor and spun him against the wall.

"_What did you do?"_ she demanded, eyes flicking from him to the door. "There are _freak police_ on the doorstep," she added, nails pricking at his earlobe, "_What - did - you - DO?"_

"Nothing!" Harry answered, mind racing. Aurors on the doorstep? Had they found out about Sirius' letters? Had Voldemort done something?

"_Liar_," Petunia snapped, wrenching away from Harry. "Vernon!" she called, stalking towards the back of the house in a huff. "Vernon!"

Harry eyed the stairs longingly. Just how much more trouble would he be in if he went upstairs to his room? If the Aurors didn't want to talk to him, he'd be better off out of sight, but if they did and Petunia had to fetch him... wait. The article. Malfoy. Routine questioning.

Vernon lumbered into the foyer, the evening paper crumpled in his fist, and spotted Harry still against the wall. He brandished the paper in Harry's face. "You can't even stay out of trouble in your freak world," he said, sneering. "I suppose you think I should be glad you haven't brought real police down on respectable people, hm? Find this funny?"

"No, Uncle Vernon."

"You'll be on your way to whatever jail you freaks have by midnight," Vernon added with relish.

Harry managed not to react to the mention of Azkaban, since his uncle didn't know what he was talking about.

Vernon turned away and yanked the door open. "Make it quick," he ordered. "We don't want your kind in the house any longer than necessary."

"This won't take but a moment, tops," the woman who'd talked to Petunia replied, stepping into the house. Much to Harry's surprise, the woman was little taller than he was, and slim, with blindingly pink hair, a Muggle T-shirt, and jeans. (He heard Vernon mutter something about freaks and college-punk 'cops', but ignored it.) She caught his look, and waggled her fingers at him. "Wotcher, Potter."

Harry blinked. "Um... hi?"

"Auror Tonks, at your service," she introduced herself. Then, pointing a thumb over her shoulder, she added, "And this is an observer from the Ministry, Kingsley Shacklebolt."

The man looming behind Tonks had been unnoticeable, drowned out by the bright, eye-catching Auror, but now that Harry's attention had been directed away from the woman...

_How on earth did I miss THAT?_

Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't have anywhere near the same impressive build as Hagrid, but he made up for it by being imposingly human and effective-looking. Bald and black, he had on a slightly out-of-style Muggle suit, also black, and wore a tiny gold hoop in one ear. Standing in Petunia's perfectly middle-class Muggle home, he looked like he was ready to deliver a lawsuit.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of Draco Malfoy," Tonks added. "If you don't mind."

He'd guessed right. "Sure," Harry said.

Tonks' eyes strayed expectantly to the living room. Vernon stood firmly in the doorway, arms crossed, face blotchy. "You can just arrest him right there and get out," he snapped impatiently.

"_Arrest..?_" Tonks and Shacklebolt blurted.

"No, you've misunderstood... we're terribly sorry, we didn't make ourselves clear," Tonks added quickly. "We just need to ask Harry some questions."

Vernon's face fell. "You're not arresting him?"

"No, just questions," Tonks told him, smiling in a way that was probably meant to be soothing.

"I... see." Vernon looked crestfallen, but quickly rallied. "Ask your ruddy questions and get out, then."

Tonks nodded agreeably, then (with a quick glance at Vernon and Petunia staring in the doorway, glaring) took out a sheet of parchment and an EverInk Quill. "All right, then. Let's start. You're Harry Potter, Hogwarts student, just completed your fifth year. Correct?"

Harry tried not to look incredulous. "Yes."

She grinned at him. "Not that I didn't know, but just for the record and all that, wot. Are you acquainted with Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes."

"How so?"

"We're classmates."

"On good terms?" Tonks asked knowingly.

Harry snorted. "Bloody no."

"When did you last see him?"

Harry thought for a long moment. Had he seen that damn spot of blond on the platform? The train? Malfoy was hard to miss, but... "For certain," Harry finally said, "at breakfast on the day we took the train back to London."

"Not on the train?" Tonks asked.

Harry shook his head. "No." It had been a relief then, but... "And that's really weird." Tonks raised an eyebrow, as Harry continued, "He picks a fight every year on the train home, but not this time."

"So he was acting strangely?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Had he been acting strangely before you got on the Express?"

_Hell yes. Finding out you've been sleeping with a demon in your room the whole year? Witnessing murder?_ "I wasn't really paying attention. We haven't had a fight since before OWLs, if that's anything. The whole year was really out of it."

"I see..." Tonks murmured. "Back to when you last saw him... who was he with?"

Harry shrugged. "His usual crowd. The Slytherins in our year."

"And what was he doing?"

"Eating breakfast, just like the rest of us."

Tonks smiled ruefully. "Have to ask. It's procedure. So with that established, do you know of anyone who would have wanted to kidnap him?"

"Kidnap... no." _Except Genkai's team, since Draco knows that Kurama's a demon. But then, so do I._ "About half the school would like to... er... take him down a few pegs, but kidnapping would mean that you'd have to put up with him."

Tonks frowned slightly. "So you think there's a chance that he isn't alive?"

Harry jerked. "What? NO! No..." _Though Kurama killed the other demon so easily... _"I don't think so. No." _Why wait a week? Why wait until there were masses of witnesses? And if he did, why didn't he do anything to me?_ "Malfoy's..." _Unless Yuusuke's here to make sure something does happen if I start to talk?_ _But that still makes no sense. He's staying with the Order; he came right up to me and told me why he was here. _"Malfoy's family is on the wrong side for him to be dead. If that makes any sense."

Shacklebolt stirred. "That's a very serious allegation, Mr. Potter," he said. Harry glared at him, getting a wink for his trouble. "It'll have to stay off the record," Shacklebolt added, "but rest assured we're taking that into account."

Harry blinked. Wouldn't do them a bloody bit of good, but... if the Prophet got a whiff that the Aurors thought Malfoy might be dead...

Ouch.

"Is that all you've got then, Harry?" asked Tonks. Harry jerked back to reality and nodded. "Right, then. If we need anything more from you, one of us will be by," she said, indicating herself and Kingsley.

Vernon and Petunia nearly fell over each other trying to yank the door open for the pair to leave. With a final, bemused glance at them, and a grin from Tonks for Harry, the wizards Apparated out of the foyer with a loud _pop_.

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Shiori had a long shift on Friday, with both early and late meetings inexplicably scheduled on the same day, and a morning's shift on Saturday. She'd be staying the night near work.

The instant she'd finally left, before dawn and with the motherly apologies that Kurama still couldn't quite understand, Kurama headed for the phone and punched in a string of numbers, a code that would erase itself from any phone bill in the world.

As he waited to be patched through, the handset warmed slightly in his hand. The connection's overtones cycled from electronically fuzzy through dry crackling through a subliminal gurgle, finally settling on a whispery rush as the call got through and was picked up.

"Hello, Botan? It's Kurama. I need a lift..."

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TBC

A/N's -

- Kurama's father: heartless bastard, or clueless eccentric? I'm leaning towards clueless eccentric.

- yes, finally we discover where Yuusuke is.

- I can't find if "cop" is used in British English. "Police" was too formal for the dialogue, and the only proveably British term I found was "bobby", which I felt would badly confuse too many readers. Please forgive my unshakeable Americanism.

- I wasn't going to, but... Tonks was the only thing I really liked about OotP. And I needed Aurors. Anyway, I hope I've managed to get her in-character, and this time if someone thinks I haven't, please tell me WHY so I can fix it.

- no Veritaserum. Not to a minor, who's only a potential witness.


	4. Evidence

Warnings, disclaimers, all that.

A/N's -

- Yes, BD was deleted. No, I don't know why. No, I'm not reposting. Yes, it's posted elsewhere on the net; check my profile for the link.

- Third floor in Britain is fourth floor in America

- Author's opinion does not match Draco's

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CHAPTER STARTS -

Ch. 4 - Evidence

_Genkai -_

_No evidence of recent DE activity. Students fine. Banshees pests. Leaving Ireland. Send money._

_- Hiei_

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Hot rain pounded upon Kurama, the ruined silk of Botan's kimono sleeves flapping in the wind, slapping at him. Her ponytail, a stinging, drenched whip, lashed at his eyes and face. Her oar skittered and lurched, thrown about by high winds, and no doubt only her expert piloting was keeping them aloft.

No doubt, except that Kurama wasn't entirely sure which way was up. The only reference point in the green-black mass of roiling clouds was Botan herself, bright pink and blue and white in the occasional flash of lightning, and the oar's haft solid in his grip.

Thunder rolled, and the oar plummeted, flung momentarily below the clouds. Far below, a river wound, barely visible in the rain.

Botan turned and shouted, almost into Kurama's ear. "This the place?"

"I don't know!" Kurama shouted back. He needed to see the mountains, the horizon, something other than a half-second glimpse of a river bend.

Botan twisted back, bending low to her oar, and shoved. Kurama could feel the strain in the wood under his palms, as she fought the wind to get below the clouds once more.

A gap opened up, an emptier black in the fog, and Botan shot through. Kurama blinked rain out of his eyes, squinting at the land's contours. _Features, features, Inari I need to SEE!_

Lightning cracked, ripping across the clouds in a white-hot flash.

Kurama blinked the afterimages from his eyes. "_This is it!"_ he yelled, his words drowned out by an explosion of thunder. "This is it, Botan!" he shouted again. "Land!"

"What?"

"Land!"

She shot him an incredulous look, then gritted her teeth and bore down on the oar. The ground spiraled up to meet them, tilting wildly from side to side. Howling winds sent them spinning in all directions, flipping them entirely upside-down at one point, and Kurama slid a sickening several inches before Botan snapped the oar back underneath them both.

However the hell Botan managed to stay on sitting sidesaddle, Kurama wanted that technique.

Three meters above the twisting forest, Kurama dug his rose from his hopelessly matted hair. "Rose Whip!" he called, wind stealing the sound away, and he lashed the whip into the treetops. It caught on a branch somewhere deep within. The connection was enough for Kurama to pour power through and wrench open a gap between the branches.

He reeled them in carefully, as Botan fought to keep them from smashing against the trees. Four meters down, he let the canopy close once more, cutting off a significant amount of the wind and pouring rain. He let the whip vanish, and Botan guided the oar down to a relatively soft landing.

They sat silent for a moment on a fallen tree, catching their breath. Then, finally...

"You _owe_ me for that, Kurama-san."

Kurama flexed his hands gently, expressionless as he stretched muscles cramped from his deathgrip on the oar. "My apologies," he murmured. "I should have inquired about the weather in Reikai today." It was a singularly Japanese statement, putting blame firmly on Kurama himself. Nobody bothered to make weather reports outside the Human world.

Botan waved it off. "Get Koenma-sama to replace my kimono, and we're even," she said, flapping a drenched sleeve in demonstration.

"Done." Kurama pushed his hair out of his face, grimacing slightly at the tangled mess. "Are you going to go back to work, or...?"

"I think I'll stay until the storm's blown itself out," Botan replied cheerfully. She glanced around, then down at her formal sandals and pristine white socks. "... but if it's safe enough here, I think I'll stay put."

Kurama smiled. "It's safe." Except for the predatory plants. "As long as you stay put." He turned away, dropping a random human-world seed next to a tree and triggering it to sprout. If he got lost, unlikely as that was, it would suffice as a beacon if he got within range.

"Hey, wait! What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"

Kurama shrugged, barely glancing back over his shoulder as he slipped away into the Reikai forest. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

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Draco lounged, bored out of his mind, next to Shizuru on an overstuffed and horribly plebian couch. He'd been staring at the photo album-box called a "TV" for the past three hours, but the different pictures, though interesting at first due to their soundtracks, had long since lost what little appeal they had. The current photo was something extremely noisy and overdramatic called "Iron Chef".

What possessed Muggles to photograph House Elf work in the first place, Draco would never understand. Watching it was even more incomprehensible. _Doing_ the work... well. Muggles were little better than animals as it was.

"I'm home!" Rinku shouted, flinging the door to the Kuwabara apartment open. It thumped against the wall, followed by two more thumps as he kicked his shoes off.

"Welcome back," Shizuru said, getting up. "How'd it go?"

Draco let his head loll away from the TV. The brat stood beaming in the entrance to the main room, wearing a rather limp-looking sailor suit and cap, and brandishing an old, stiffly-tailored leather backpack.

At least it wasn't dripping this time, Draco thought, feeling his gorge rise.

"Great. Piece of cake," Rinku answered, handing the backpack over to Shizuru.

She raised an eyebrow, lifting the pack to peer at the bottom. "Did you drain it this time?"

"Yees..."

"'Drain' doesn't mean 'stick the head in upside-down'," she reminded him.

_Erk._ Draco swallowed hard, bile burning in the back of his throat.

Rinku grinned ruefully, rubbing the back of his head. "Can it mean 'wrapped the string really tight around the neck and stuck it in upside-down in a trash bag'?" At Shizuru's frown, he quickly added, "There's just no time usually! It's hard enough getting the guy away to fight without humans watching!"

She tossed the bag back at him. "Sink. Now. Wash the blood out before it starts leaking." Rinku rolled his eyes and stomped off to the kitchen, as Shizuru headed for the phone. "I'm going to have a talk with K-- with that guy about demanding evidence."

Draco buried his head under a throw pillow and tried to pretend his stomach didn't exist.

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Yuusuke was smoking in the park when Harry found him, sitting on the merry-go-round, hair ungelled and Tshirt sleeves rolled up. If he was a spy, he wasn't doing a very good job of blending in.

"Potter," Yuusuke said, acknowledging him.

"Urameshi," Harry said, just as neutrally, hands in his pockets.

Silence. Yuusuke took a long drag on his cigarette, held it a moment, and blew smoke lazily into the still air.

"Look..." Harry finally blurted, "I've been trying. I know a werewolf; I don't have a problem with Dark creatures. But..." He trailed off. Yuusuke and Kurama were friends, after all.

"But?" Yuusuke pressed.

"A werewolf can't help it. You know? Kurama didn't go psycho, he didn't... well, he did change, but not up here." Harry tapped his head. "Right?"

"Right. The youko is Kurama is the youko."

"Yeah." That was the problem, wasn't it. "And he's been nice to Neville, and you guys are friends, and I want to think he's a good guy, but..."

Yuusuke dropped his head in his free hand, and muttered, "But he's an 'oooh, so evil Slytherin'."

"And he just executed that other guy," Harry said hastily. "But, well..." Yes.

"You know, we really hate your House system," Yuusuke said conversationally, stubbing his cigarette out on the ground. "Betcha wouldn't have a problem if he was a Ravenclaw or somethin'."

"That's not true!" Harry snapped. "Have you ever seen him kill! N-"

"Yes."

Harry sputtered to a halt. "... what?"

"I've seen him kill." Yuusuke turned a flat gaze on Harry. "And I've seen him nearly get killed, and he's seen the same with me."

What was there to say to that? "Oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh'."

Harry resisted the urge to grab his wand. Not like he was allowed to cast spells over the hols. "The... same, huh."

Yuusuke shrugged. "Bein' a demon's a constant war. Fightin' 'em's the same. So, yeah."

"So you just... what? Pick fights with demons at random?"

He got a narrow-eyed glare for that. "No," Yuusuke drawled. "You do like the Aurors... you know, your cop guys who have license to kill in a firefight?" Harry winced at that. "You go out on a mission, some guy attacks, you fight back. You survive. You learn to deal."

"How?" Then Harry's brain caught up with Yuusuke's words. "Wait, no. Missions?"

"... I'll get back to you on that. But yeah, missions. And survival. Not fun. Promise."

Silence fell once more. Harry shifted uncomfortably, as Yuusuke leaned back against the go-round's bars and stared up at the clouds. Was the conversation over, or...?

Movement flickered at the edge of Harry's vision, and he turned his head. "Oh... bloody..." Dudley and his gang were coming in to the park. "I'd better go," Harry muttered, edging away from Yuusuke. "You don't want to be seen with me." And he'd rather not be around Dudley.

"Eh?" Yuusuke's gaze flicked back down to Harry.

"Just... you don't know me and you're not a freak, okay? Or a wizard."

Yuusuke's eyes narrowed. "What the hell you talkin' about?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. I gotta go." And with that, he hurried off, hoping Yuusuke wouldn't call him back.

Yuusuke didn't.

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A surprising number of students lived hidden among the worn-down mountains of Cumbria, just south of the Scottish border. This wasn't what had delayed Hiei. A couple of missing students had... but it turned out that both had just been on overnight visits elsewhere, and had shown up late the next day, in high spirits and excellent health.

Plus, there had been thin, tattered layers of old protective magics, laid haphazardly on the stone and plaster cottages. The damn things, reeking of neglect and forgotten meanings, stung in a way that the far better-kept spells over Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, and Hogsmeade did not.

So by the time he reached Lancashire in midmorning on Friday, Hiei was glad to be seeing the last of Cumbria. Even better, the day was bright and warm; not that temperature had much of an effect on him, but being dry did. Pulling a map from his pocket, Hiei checked his bearings, then darted off southwards.

Two hours later, Hiei stood atop a telephone pole, looking across the street and down over high, vine-covered walls surrounding the Longbottom residence. The house itself was small, with few windows, and would have been the right size for a family of four had it not had two extra, ramshackle stories added on at some point. Ivy crept up the walls, tendrils snaking towards the third floor. The tiny garden was overgrown, almost wildly lush.

Hiei slid from the phone pole onto the protruding branch of a nearby tree, and climbed to another branch stretched out over the road. Crouching on the rough bark, he peered more closely.

Something thumped in the house, and a spindly old woman, straight-backed and wearing a shapeless brown dress, marched out the front door, locking it behind her.

Tensing, Hiei stayed perfectly still, a shadowy lump on a high branch (humans rarely looked up), and observed the woman.

Despite the sunshine, she carried an umbrella under one arm, letting it whack indiscriminately against bushes, branches, and the door itself. Over her other arm, a large, woven, empty bag hung lifelessly. It looked like a shopping bag of some sort to Hiei. On her head sat a pointed black hat with a stuffed vulture on it. She wove deftly through the heavily overgrown front path, making her way to a nearly-hidden gate in the outer wall. However, rather than passing through when she reached it, she pressed herself against the gate, dug a wand from her bag, and vanished.

Hiei raised an eyebrow. Apparation. Definitely the right place. But where was Neville? Around back?

Using the convenient surrounding wall would be the easiest way to look, but everything about the house told Hiei that it was likely to be covered in the same crumbling, stinging wards that Cumbrian wizard homes had. So instead, he leapt to a nearby tree, then another, slowly circling the house as best he could. He stared intently at the thick masses of greenery, searching for any sign of Neville himself. If the boy was home, given the weather, he'd be outside.

Nothing. Just plants, straining towards the sun and the house. Perhaps Neville wasn't home? But...

_Something's not right here._

Frowning, Hiei settled in the branches to watch. He'd meant to look for Death Eater activity in downtown Manchester that night, but something about the Longbottom residence niggled at Hiei's instincts.

It didn't take long for him to figure out what. Just half an hour had passed when something pale flashed in a third-story window. Hiei's gaze flicked to the flutter of movement, and he watched as Neville slumped onto an unseen chair, staring out and down at his garden.

Neville Longbottom was _indoors_? Now?

The branch Hiei sat on creaked, straining, as Hiei leaned back on it. Indoors. The boy was indoors. And from the state of the garden, he might not have set foot outside since the holidays had begun. That was... that was...

Neville brushed fingertips over the glass, and the garden rustled, as if a breeze had passed through.

Hiei abruptly noticed the strain in the branch under him, straining not against his negligible weight, but towards the house. The trees surrounding the property leaned, ever-so-slightly off-center, towards the house. The shrubs, vines, bushes, everything in the overgrown garden, stretched towards the house. The very ivy on the house twined heavily over it, peaking in the direction of the window Neville sat in.

_Fuck._ What was he thinking? No, scratch that... Neville looked miserable. This couldn't be his idea.

Hiei pulled a crumpled scrap of paper and a pencil from his pocket, scribbling quickly on it as he nudged at his scarf, prodding Yuki awake.

_Longbottom - Passed by. You need to practice more, your yard's a wreck. Kurama makes patterns with vine stuff. Try it. - Jaganshi_

"Earn your keep," he told the cat, rolling the paper and offering it to her. She stared at him in open disbelief, and he picked her up off his shoulder, directing her attention across the road. "Kid in the window. Take this to him, and get some random leaves from the yard while you're at it. Maybe he'll feed you." That would be one less chore Hiei had to do.

The mention of food mollified her, but she still licked herself a few times, just to show that this was her idea rather than Hiei's, before delicately taking the roll of paper and sauntering off down the branch. A leap took her from the branch to the top of the wall, and then she vanished into the garden.

With her gone, Hiei took the time to get out a proper, clean sheet of parchment and a ballpoint pen (swiped from a gas station with bad food somewhere in Ireland). He smoothed it as best he could on the branch, and began to write a letter to Kurama.

_Kurama -_

_Reached Longbottom's today. You've got a problem coming... the kid hasn't set foot outside since the train. Don't think it's his idea. Kid looks miserable. The garden's gone wild and is creeping up the house. Guessing this is bad sign._

_Sent the cat with a note. Can't get close, the place is littered with shards of old wards. Smuggled a few clippings to work with, told him you do patterns. You've taught him enough not to overdo it._

_Reply within next two weeks. Can shift planned route to return by then. If later, forward any suggestions to Kuwabara._

_- Hiei_

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TBC

A/N's -

For Ch. 3:

- No, Harry has not met Tonks before.

- I'm not integrating the events of OotP into this. Some of the people, yes, since it's easier to do it that way than make a bunch of unnecessary OC's. But not the events, because I started this series and sketched out the entire, three-year plot before OotP came out. The post-GoF canon timeline Does Not Fit into this.

- Turns out there are ferries over to Ireland, so there wasn't one when and where Hiei wanted it. Note to self: do more research.

For Ch. 4:

- Botan gets to be cool, too.

- Harry is driving me up the WALL. Yuusuke, too.

- Yuki just had to go and be _useful._ Hmmph.


	5. Dark Core

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's -

- due to this site's policies, I can't respond directly to the reviewer who very rudely ordered me to repost The Best Defense. So, to everybody, **NO**. You only need to click two links, one to my profile and one to the other site it's on, to reach it. You would still have to click two links, one to my profile and one to the fic on this site, if I reloaded all 56 chapters, edited 40 or more to comply with the formatting limits that have been imposed over the years since I began posting BD, and reposted. Additionally, reposting is blatantly disrespecting the fact that it DID get deleted in the first place, and thus could result in getting it re-deleted along with my account. But those are secondary reasons; I primarily don't want to waste two days that I could be using to try to write.

- Kurama took over most of the chapter, then a sidestory (still in need of revision) hijacked a key point. Sigh.

- hanko seal: a stamp used by the Japanese in lieu of a signature on official documents, when signing for packages, etc.

- You know you've been working too hard on a chapter when you write your sarcastic thoughts instead of the end of the sentence. And here I thought doing that was a myth.

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CHAPTER STARTS

Ch. 5 - Dark Core

Early Sunday morning, the Dursleys packed up a grumpy Dudley and a carful of batteries, Gameboy cartridges, and snacks. They were taking Dudley to an amusement park in London... and Harry, as always, Was Not Invited.

So as Petunia fussed and soothed her darling Duddykins with a pillow and dessert, Vernon dragged Harry off to Wisteria Walk and Mrs. Figg's house. "Now, you listen to me, boy," he growled as they walked. "You are _not_ to associate with this boy of Figg's."

Unfortunately for all concerned, after Harry had left Yuusuke in the park last week, Dudley had proceeded to pick a fight with him. Despite having numbers on his side (himself, Piers, and three more), he'd come home bloody, bruised, and in only slightly better shape than he'd ever left Harry in elementary school. Petunia's shrieks still rang in Harry's ears, some five days later. The only consolation was that nobody had pegged Yuusuke as a wizard.

"Your freakishness and his criminal ways are not to mix. At _all_."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered, carefully not sighing. He'd heard this ten times already since Petunia had pounded on his door an hour ago. He could almost recite the litany Vernon was spewing. Blah blah blah, you're enough trouble without getting another sorry waste of oxygen in on your antics, you'd think Figg would know better but then again she's willing to put up with _you_, so on and so forth.

Vernon all but threw Harry onto Mrs. Figg's tiny, cat-strewn porch. A short-haired tabby with square markings around its eyes leapt off the stoop and darted away into Mrs. Figg's garden, spooked.

Surreptitiously, Harry edged away from Vernon and straightened his Tshirt, then rang the bell. Mrs. Figg answered promptly, opening the door in a worn housedress, bathrobe, and fuzzy slippers.

"No no, back dearies," she told the cats twining around her legs. "Yes, back, that's right... Mr. Dursley, lovely morning, isn't it? Do come in, off the stoop, off... back, Mr. Tibbs, let nice Mr. Dursley and Harry in, back now..."

Harry dodged the cats, stepping carefully over them and into the dark little living room, and caught sight of Yuusuke leaning against the entrance from the dining room.

"So. You're the kid Figg's sitting," Yuusuke drawled.

Behind himself, Harry could almost feel Vernon's hostile glare, as his uncle put up with Mrs. Figg's slightly senile fussing. "That's right," he said warily. Yuusuke was acting like he didn't have a clue who Harry was.

The door slammed shut, and the atmosphere suddenly relaxed. "Bit old to be babysat, aren'tcha?" Yuusuke asked, his tone considerably more familiar and friendly. Teasing.

"I'm not supposed to associate with you," Harry responded in kind.

Yuusuke's eyebrow rose. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Harry tried to keep a straight face as he added, "My aunt and uncle said."

A long moment of silence, then Yuusuke smirked, and jerked a thumb towards the backyard. "Wanna spar?"

"Sure," Harry answered. Yuusuke hadn't said teach, but that had to be what he meant; Harry's hand-to-hand skills... well, weren't.

Then he remembered Mrs. Figg. He glanced back towards the foyer to see her reaction.

"Well?" she asked, "'Such a nice day, boys should be outside playing.' Go on then. I'm just a senile old fuddyduddy, I can't be expected to enforce Dursley's rules." She gave them a tiny grin. "Shoo."

Both obediently shoo'd.

The second they were outside, Yuusuke pounced. It wasn't very hard, but Harry was sent sprawling. He shoved up blindly, tossing Yuusuke off, and counterattacked. Yuusuke grabbed his arm, twisted, and Harry found himself eating dirt.

"Ain't you never done this before?" Yuusuke asked.

Harry spat out a clump of grass. "No. I'm better at running."

"Go with your strengths, I guess," Yuusuke muttered dubiously.

Harry ignored that, and asked, "What's Professor McGonagall doing here?"

Yuusuke shrugged, letting Harry up. "Pretending she doesn't know we're all trying to spy, I guess. Where'd you see her?"

"On the porch," Harry replied, sitting up and rotating his arm. Ow. "I almost stepped on her. How'd you do that throw?"

"Here, stand up and I'll show you," Yuusuke said, waving Harry to his feet. "It's easier on people taller than you, but grab my arm like so..."

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_Oniisan -_

_How have you been?_

_Hogsmeade has been relatively quiet, with the initial panic over Draco-san's disappearance dying down. The Prophet's reported no new leads, and is turning its attention to scandals in the Ministry. Rosmerta-san told me this is quite normal. I don't understand their media system very well, I think._

_Keiko-san sent me a letter. She was most surprised to notice how many nonhumans gravitate towards her town. She's a little unnerved, I think. I didn't know whether or not I should suggest that she talk to Shizuru-san. Kurama-san wouldn't want Draco-san to meet his mother, and the next person I would think he'd place Draco-san with is Shizuru-san. Do you know if he did?_

_Yuusuke-san has discovered the Howler system, and has been sending his updates using them. Genkai-shihan finds them quite amusing, and I think Yuusuke-san does too. He's really very loud, isn't he? Yesterday's letter scorched the breakfast table! If this keeps up I think the neighbors might begin sending Howlers in earnest._

_Kazuma continues his travels through Cornwall. He found a site "puddled" with Dark magic near Torbay, and was terribly upset. Or that might have been the fever talking; it turns out that Kazuma is allergic to Cornish pixies. He was very fortunate to have been able to write his letter. _

_I'm taking the train down to Plymouth tonight, so I'm afraid you won't be hearing from me until Kazuma's feeling better._

_Be well,_

_Yukina_

Hiei's hand brushed over his pocket, feeling the crinkle of parchment: the rest of Yukina's letters, none of which mentioned Malfoy except as a topic in the newspaper. Then, frowning, he balled up the new letter in his hand and burned it.

A trace of ash, all that was left of the letter, drifted away with the breeze.

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_"... and people are still reeling from the Dark Tournament," _Kurama's informant said on Thursday, static buzzing over Kurama's cell phone. _"Rumor is there's some pretty ugly shuffling going on behind closed doors, with power vaccuums all over the place. Nobody's keeping the peons in check."_

"Effects?" Kurama asked.

_"Petty crime's skyrocketed, but something's been taking them out in your area."_ Shizuru and her guests, if Kurama had to hazard a guess. "_Higher operations have gone to ground; they got more brains than your average thug."_

"That's not saying much."

_"Point. But,"_ the informant warned, "_this ain't gonna last forever. Another year or two, tops, and these guys'll quit being spooked."_

"I'll worry about it then," Kurama said, unlocking his front door. "Good work. Your pay's in locker 323 at Roppongi station." He hung up, not waiting for a reply. "I'm home!" he called, slipping his shoes off.

"Welcome back," Shiori replied, her voice echoing from the direction of the kitchen. "There are letters for you on the table."

Letters? Kurama glanced at the hall table, dropping his cell phone and keys next to the lacquered tray they used for mail. Stacked neatly on it were two envelopes, both made of folded parchment. The one on top bore several Muggle stamps, postmarked from Manchester and labeled for airmail. Kurama picked both letters up, shuffling the two apart to see that the second was devoid of any such additions.

He opened the unstamped one first. The Japanese was poorly penned, and the letterhead gaudy in a way that screamed of bureaucracy. He skimmed it quickly, unsurprised to discover it was from the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It requested, in way that was really just a poorly-disguised order, that he present himself to an Officer Morioka at the local police station within the... (he squinted at the splotchy kanji)... week, for 'routine questioning'.

So, they'd finally gotten around to him. And somebody had (unsurprisingly, given the prohibitive cost) cut corners buying their translation charm.

Kurama glanced at the date at the top of the letter. He had two days left to visit the station. _Not quite enough time for another seed-stocking excursion_, he thought as he opened the other, stamp-laden envelope, _but enough to check in on Draco..._

The handwriting on the letter inside was Hiei's. Two kanji in the first line leapt off the page at him. 'Problem'.

_... or not._ He read this letter more slowly than the last, muscles tensing as he read. Neville. Indoors. Garden gone wild. Miserable. _Bad sign indeed, Hiei_.

Kurama picked his phone up again and dialed a number one-handed, walking slowly down the hall, Hiei's letter still held before his eyes. He entered the kitchen as someone picked up on the other end of the line. "Hello, Suzuki-san?"

_"Kurama-san?"_

"Yes." His mother glanced up from the stove, smile faltering at Kurama's non-expression. Kurama tried to muster a reassuring face for her, but she set her chopsticks aside and turned the stove off, wiping her hands on a handtowel. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make that appointment." Kurama twitched the phone away from his mouth.

"Mother? Can you look up the airport's number, please?" Shiori paused in surprise, and knelt to rummage through a lower cabinet. Kurama turned his attention back to the phone. "Would you mind delivering?"

"_Delivering...?"_ Suzuki asked. _"Well, of course. It'll cost more,_" and he sounded a bit too cheerful about that,_ "but I thought you wanted to have a look at the selection."_

"I did. Something's come up." Had it ever. "If you would just choose the best and most broadly useful - I'm sure your skills are up to it - I would greatly appreciate it."

Shiori pulled the rarely-used book from the cupboard, paging through it with oddly worried glances Kurama's way.

_"I'll need an address."_

"May I call you with it, later?"

_"Of course. I'll have your bill ready by then, as well."_

"That sounds fine. I'll call you back, then." Kurama hung up.

Shiori was staring at him. "Shuiichi? What's wrong? What's this about?"

Kurama tried to sidestep the question. "Did you find that number?" She nodded numbly, and Kurama gently pulled the phone book towards him to look. He dialed again, and lifted the letter a bit, drawing her attention to it. "It's... a friend. He's..." _sick_, almost slipped out, but he didn't need to twist the truth, did he? "... in trouble." On the other end of the line, the phone rang.

"Trouble!" Shiori repeated, eyes widening.

A second ring, and someone picked up. _"Tokyo Narita Airport, how may I direct your call?"_

Kurama held up a finger, turning his attention to the phone. "All Nippon Airways, please."

_"Please hold."_

"You know how father used his magic?" Kurama asked. It was a wild guess, but she'd known enough to direct him to the trunk last summer. "How he poured his heart and soul into his work, into his spells?"

Another slow nod. "Yes..." Shiori said hesitantly.

He'd guessed right. "The British don't do it like that. They..." What was their problem, anyway? They had issues with core magic and nonhumans, that was a fact, but as for underlying reasons... "I don't know why. They just don't. I tutored another student; he's home now, and his family's not letting him practice and he's too strong to just stop like-"

_"All Nippon Airways, how may I help you today?"_

Kurama held up a finger to Shiori, 'just a second'. "Ah, yes, I'd like to buy a ticket on the next flight to London."

"Shuiichi...?" His mother wavered.

"Nobody but Hiei even knows, mother, and he doesn't have a phone. I can get there much faster than a letter, as well as manage the fallout if something goes wrong."

"But..."

_"Sir, I'm showing the next flight with open seats is at 11:40 am tomorrow morning."_

"Thank you. I'll need a one-way adult ticket, for Minamino Shuiichi, coach class." He listened to the clatter as the clerk typed the details in. "How much?"

"_145,110 yen."_

Shiori stared as Kurama pulled his wallet from his pocket, fetching his credit card. "Shuiichi, no, you can't afford it...!"

"Yes I can, mother." He read the numbers off as the clerk directed.

_"Thank you for your business, Minamino-sama. Please enjoy your flight."_

"Thank you." Kurama hung up, turning back to Shiori.

Her eyes were entirely too bright, but no tears fell. "Shuiichi..."

"I'm sorry, mother." Kurama hesitated a moment, then drew her into a hug. She clung tightly to him. "I wanted to stay the summer," he murmured into her hair. "I... I truly did. But he needs help." She made a soft, pained sound of agreement, and he pulled away a bit to face her. "I'll see what I can do about coming back, but I can't make any promises."

"You... do what you need to. All right? Don't worry about me." She cupped his face, a wavery smile ghosting across hers. "My little boy... so grown up..."

Kurama squirmed. "Mother, that's embarrassing."

She chuckled sadly. "Mother's perogative. And you don't really mind."

"Well... no," he admitted with mock reluctance. She ruffled his hair. "_Mom!"_ he sputtered, laughing, ducking away.

"You'll write to me," she stated. "And call when you're in Muggle areas."

"Right."

"And take some pictures. There weren't any from your whole year at school." She smiled up at him. "I'll forget what you look like!"

"Pictures. Right." He held Shiori's gaze for a moment, then awkwardly patted her shoulders. "I have to..." he trailed off, jerking a thumb upstairs.

She blinked. "Hm...? Oh! Yes. You have... a lot to do before your flight. Packing."

"Yes." Stiffly, he patted her a last time and made his escape upstairs. Sometimes it was hard balancing what he'd observed of teenage behavior, honest caring towards his mother, and centuries of self-reliance in the Makai.

Once in his room, he dug a sheet of parchment from his trunk (may as well be as polite about his reply as Hiei had been with the original letter) and used a ballpoint to neatly ink a short note.

_Hiei,_

_Thank you for the information. I'll handle it._

_Kurama_

He had envelopes in his desk drawer; remnants of his earlier days seeking out informants in Tokyo, before he had a cell phone. Pulling one out, he addressed the letter to Hiei, c/o Yuusuke, at Figg's house on Wisteria Walk.

They kept stamps downstairs in a drawer in the hall table, with their _hanko_ seals. He'd take a few, and drop the letter in the mail on his way to the police station. After that, it would be a simple matter of faking a complete lack of knowledge about Draco's disappearance. He wouldn't even have to lie. He didn't know Draco was missing (because he knew where Draco was), no one had told him about it, he'd had only the one letter from anyone except the Aurors and it didn't mention Draco, and he hadn't noticed Draco acting oddly (because, in all honesty, Draco had been behaving perfectly normally for someone in danger from both sides). He'd only seen Draco twice on the train, both times in line for the toilet, and not on the platform at all (because Draco's doppelganger had vanished by then).

Kurama sealed the letter, turned out the light, and left.

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Waiting rooms had the most uncomfortable chairs in existance, Harry thought, rubbing his gritty eyes behind his glasses. How Ginny was managing to sleep in hers, even slumped using Harry as a pillow, he wasn't quite sure.

Molly sat on Ginny's far side, pale and clutching at the girl's limp hand, staring at the scuffed floor. Across from her, Hermione fidgeted, eyes flicking from the mediwitch's desk to the clock (two in the morning, Harry noted absently), fingers twitching without a quill or book in them. Over in the corner, Bill and Percy spoke in low tones, tense and visibly biting back arguments on both sides. The twins hovered between them and Harry, Ginny, and Molly.

Nearly five hours since George had showed up alone on the Dursley's doorstep. Harry hadn't known the twins ever got out of eyesight of each other, save for one NEWT-level class each. He definitely hadn't seen either so tense and sober.

It hadn't taken George's coldly-spoken silencing charm on Vernon to signal something was wrong.

Arthur brought in a tray of hot drinks, silently disentangling Ginny's hand from Molly's and replacing it with a cup of steaming tea.

Four and a half hours since the Knight Bus had dropped them, and Fred and Hermione, off at the dilpidated, closed little storefront that masked St. Mungo's. Since the mediwitch in lime-green robes had walked them personally up to Spell Damage on the 4th floor. Since Molly had pulled the twins, and Harry, and Hermione, into a clumsy hug and clung for several long moments.

Four hours, and three, and one and a half, since a mediwizard had told them they were still running tests to diagnose Ron, and calling in Healer after Healer. An hour since the last of the waivers for more obscure experts had been whisked away.

Catatonic, not comatose. Or, as Ginny had put it, "Just sitting there, staring at nothing and... and just falling over when I shook him... oh Merlin..." No signs of charms, hexes, jinxes, Dark magic, or Basilisk petrification; just before midnight they'd even brought a Healer from the first floor to check that Ron hadn't been replaced with a transfigured object of some sort.

Nobody mentioned Voldemort. Nobody dared. But this wasn't his style... right?

A dumpy little witch brought in another clipboard, handing it to Mr. Weasley after a glance at Mrs. Weasley.

"What's this?" Arthur asked, voice hoarse.

"Papers for admittance into the long-term ward, sir," the mediwitch said quietly.

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The flight to England had been long and dull, the only highlight being a decent set of in-flight movies and two surprisingly edible meals. Kurama had arrived with plenty of time to get through customs and to the train station to catch the last train to Manchester. He slept through the four-hour journey, carefully on top of his backpack to deter thieves, and found a cheap motel near the station. The next morning, a bit bleary from jetlag, he took a local train to Preston, then a taxi into the mountains, and began to walk.

He'd seen Hiei's intended route, with many of the students' homes marked. He could find the way.

So it was that three days after recieving Hiei's letter, Kurama stood across the road from the Longbottom residence, studying the house and its surroundings with a skilled eye. Heavy masses of ivy clung to the wall, up to the third story, tendrils starting to snake over a window. The garden itself looked more like an overgrown flowerpot than a yard, thick greenery all but unbroken from walls to house, hiding much of the ground floor. Around it, scattered trees leaned noticeably off from vertical, all towards the house.

The grass under his feet was entirely too thick, even this far away.

Kurama's backpack slid to the ground with a thump, and he slung it between the heavy roots of a nearby tree. Time to get to work, then. It would have to be a slapdash job, though; there wasn't really time to treat it like a proper project. Not that he was out to burglarize the house, but there were certain similarities.

First step, then: ascertain who was home. Neville was a given, considering Hiei's information, but his grandmother wasn't. As for other relatives, the house was certainly large enough to house several, but that was no assurance that there were any. And there might be guests, too, if Mrs. Longbottom was the sort of person to invite guests despite her garden's wild state.

Kurama circled the house, slowly approaching it from a direction with heavy cover and bad lines of sight from the windows. He fetched up in a crouch against the stone wall around the garden, near the side of the house and out of sight of the front gate. Cool brick prickled against his back, and he bit his lip; Hiei was right about the unkempt, shattered remnants of anti-demon wards. The sensation was more shocking than anything else, though it would have stung Hiei badly. Right now, though, Kurama's real worry was the trailing ivy and morning glory vines tickling faintly against the sides of his head and neck.

Pulling a tiny seed from his hair, Kurama pressed it into the shaded earth next to him, and triggered his spyeye vine to sprout. He sent it curling through the ivy, climbing the wall and over, out of sight. He focused tightly on it, on the sensation of his power in it, staring sightlessly up and over his shoulder as the vine crept though the garden and wormed its way into the house.

A tendril of morning glory, growing faster than it had any right to, slowly curved over his collarbone as he worked. Kurama ignored it, automatically schooling himself to calm with the same skill that allowed him to sleep in the midst of a Devil's Snare. He turned his attention back to the base of his spyeye, calling forth a leaf to watch inside as he placed the camera-buds.

The ground floor. A dingy, tiny parlor, scarcely enough room for a prim loveseat and two spindly chairs in front of the fireplace. A reading room of some sort, old books and a worn plaid chair, too dark to be used because of the vines over the window. A hallway. A dining room, some attempt at formality with a portrait of a stern man, presumably an ancestor. A kitchen, a kettle over a larger fireplace and an old woman reading the paper by lamplight at a small table.

The vine tucked closer, curving back over Kurama's shoulder.

First floor. A bathroom. A guestroom. Another bedroom, this one with several potion bottles on the nightstand and a foxfur on the dresser. A storage closet.

Second floor. Locked rooms full of furniture covered in dust cloths. Master, sitting, bath, nursery.

A leaf brushed against Kurama's spine as the vine started to loop in on itself.

Third floor, and finally the rooms weren't gloomy with ivy-blocked sunlight. Another bathroom, a hamper of laundry, a threadbare towel drying on a hook. A room of old toys, most boxed away. A second guestroom. And an open door to Neville's room.

The morning glory finished its loop around Kurama's neck, and began to double over itself. A second vine started to twist around his arm.

So, two occupants. Kurama studied the images in his leaf. One bud: Neville sat on his bed near the window. A second: the half of his room invisible from the stairs seethed with broad-leafed greenery: a massively overgrown lilypad, partially submerged in a tank where Trevor hopped about happily. Soft white blossoms budded, bloomed, and reversed as Kurama watched.

A blue flower drooped over Kurama's head, tickling at his face. "All right, that's enough," Kurama muttered, frowning. He pushed it away, only to stop when the move yanked at his scalp. Cursing under his breath, he reached up with his free hand to disentangle the flower's stem from his hair.

His momentary irritation triggered the first vine to tighten ever-so-slightly around his neck.

Kurama sighed. Then, pushing with his magic, he countered the new growth and forced it back, freeing himself.

On the spyeye leaf, Neville's head snapped up. Kurama froze, instinctively, gazed pinned to the leaf, as Neville hastily shrunk the lilypad down to a size imperceptible in the monitor. With a shy glance towards the door, he tucked it down the waistband of his trousers.

Kurama blinked. _Did he just...? Well, that's one way to make sure your grandmother doesn't confiscate it..._

After a long moment, during which Neville seemed to realize he hadn't heard his grandmother coming upstairs, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. He slowly turned towards the window, and pressed up against it to peer out.

He wouldn't see anything, Kurama knew. That window faced the wrong side of the house. But his next move would surely be... ah, and there he went, heading to the other rooms on the floor.

Kurama disentangled himself again from the too-loving vines, pushing away from the wall. Neville had noticed him. May as well show himself rather than let the boy think he was stalking him. He stood in the line-of-sight from the guest room window, in full view, and waited.

It was only a minute or two before Neville's face appeared in the window. His eyes widened in shock, and Kurama waved. Neville's hand slowly appeared, and he gave a tiny wave in response.

Kurama grinned, beckoning. _Come and play._

As expected, Neville shook his head in dismay.

Kurama let his smile fall away, pretending confusion (_whyever not? It's nice out!), _and beckoned again. He recieved the same response, this time more vehement, and cocked his head in more obviously disappointed bewilderment. Then he brought his hand to his chin, eyes narrowing, pretending to think.

_I know why you're not out, but let's pretend Hiei never sent me that letter... _Kurama pulled a somewhat crinkled sheet of paper and a pen from his jacket pocket, and wrote a quick note.

_Whatever is going on? Your garden is overflowing with power!_

Then he slid fingers through his hair, caught a vine seed, and held it out in his hand. It shot out, roots tangling around his hand, stem looping about the note. Kurama stepped back to the wall and pulled himself partway up it, head sticking up over the top. A spyeye leaf lay hidden in the foliage between his arms, unnoticeable from Neville's vantage point, and Kurama kept half an eye on it as he sent the vine with its note spiraling up to the window.

He opened the note for Neville to read, but Neville made several gestures at the window, mimed opening it, then shook his head.

Not allowed to open the window? Charmed shut? Alarmed shut? There was no way to know, and Kurama was much too far away to see if Neville wrote on his own parchment inside.

However, Hiei's cat had gotten in. Somehow. And non-flying species tended to neglect their roofs... so... Kurama squinted at the roofline.

A hole in the roof would've been noticed with the first rain, but perhaps there was a gap under the eaves. He sent another tendril sliding up the house, to poke blindly at the juncture between wall and rooftop. Inside, where Neville couldn't see, he ran the spyeye up a dark corner and over the ceiling, looking for entry into the attic.

A trapdoor in the hallway provided access for the spyeye; a gleam of light behind the chimney showed Kurama where Yuki had snuck in. He sent the note following the seeking vine outside, balling it tightly and squeezing it in through the crack.

Neville turned away from the window, and Kurama shrank the spyeye hastily out of the attic. A moment to lever the trapdoor up, dangle the rather worse-for-wear note into the hallway, and Kurama felt a sharp tug on the end of the vine.

He went with the tug, growing the vine, and Neville reappeared in the window with note in hand. He scribbled on the paper, but didn't let go for the few minutes it would take to let the ink dry. When he did, holding the paper up pointedly and letting go, Kurama reversed the process and pulled the note back outside and down to read it.

He frowned at what it said, and wrote back, repeating the process. By the time Neville's grandmother called up for him to come down for tea, Kurama had found out far more than he ever wanted to know about Gryffindor stubbornness.

_Whatever is going on? Your garden's overflowing with power!_

_What are you doing here? I thought you went back to Japan._

_I did. You didn't answer my question. I've been looking at your wall, here... the vines tried to grab me. This isn't healthy, Neville._

_Didn't Hiei tell you?_

_Tell me what?_

_Gran doesn't want me learning Dark magic. I'm grounded. And I'm not supposed to be talking to you._

_Dark magic? What Dark magic? And why not?_

_Core magic. Gran says it's demonic, so it's Dark. And you're "that Slytherin who's been teaching" me._

_What brought this on? You've been learning all year. And it's not Dark. There are demons with healing powers, does that make healing magic Dark? And I'm sorry I'm in Slytherin. It's really very isolating in there._

_She didn't really believe it until I put vines around my bed. And I didn't ask about that. And I'm sorry you're in Slytherin, too._

_This really isn't very healthy, Neville. How long are you grounded for?_

_The whole summer._

_That's insane. Sneak out with me._

_I can't do that, Kurama!_

_Why not?_

_I'm not allowed!_

_So? I wouldn't ask if it weren't important._

_I'm in enough trouble. No._

_You certainly are, but it's not your Gran I'm worried about. Look at your garden._

_Gran's too old to take care of it, and it's been a wet summer._

_You don't seriously believe that? This isn't natural growth, Neville! _

_Then it won't last. It'll calm down when term starts._

_That's six more weeks. It's been scarcely two._

_I'll last. And Gran's calling me. I guess I'll see you in school._

_You'll not find this til you come back, but of course you'll last. I'm not so sure about your house._

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They'd lost Chuu somewhere between the liquor stand and a booth selling shaved ice, which Shizuru dragged Draco in line for. _Thank you, Merlin_, Draco thought to himself, half-wilted in the lingering summer heat. He hadn't known places could _get_ this hot. It felt like he was standing in the steam off a boiling potion, despite the sun sinking towards the horizon.

Perhaps he could dump the ice over his head. He glanced sidelong at Shizuru. Then again, maybe not.

Several teenage girls in brightly-patterned robes and contrasting wide sashes pushed past him, giggling and eyeing his blond hair. Draco edged back, bumping against Shizuru. Muggles. Ick. He turned away, but there was nowhere to look in the crowd of festival-goers that wasn't packed with Muggles.

... who seemed to be congregating near a high platform set up nearby, topped with a massive drum sitting on its side. A petite woman carrying two short batons, and wearing clinging black shorts and a loose red wrap shirt, pulled herself to the top, sparking a round of applause. She bowed to the audience, transferred the batons to each hand, and stood before the drum.

The first hit throbbed with power.

A witch! Draco stared, barely noticing as the line moved. The woman was a _witch,_ sending waves of magic pulsing outwards with every beat. A witch, blanketing the festival with power; for what purpose, Draco didn't know. He didn't care. It brought the festival to life in a way that the bright colors and whirling crowd didn't. It was _magic_, strong and warm and vibrant.

Japan suddenly, for a heart-stopping moment, felt like home. Then a cone of shaved ice was shoved under his nose, and the moment vanished like a popped bubble.

Draco blinked at the brightly-colored snowball, a red plastic straw sticking cheerfully from it. "What...?"

"Take it," Shizuru said, all but dropping it in his hands. Draco nearly fumbled it, only his skill as a Seeker keeping the cone upright and unspilled, then looked up at her. She met his eyes for a long moment, expectantly. "My treat," she finally added, pointedly, a familiar gleam of '_I will enforce manners with a fist if necessary'_ in her eye.

"... thank you?"

"You're welcome."

Draco turned away from her vindicated expression, biting back considerable indignation, and attacked the treat. It was sweet, cold, and tasted almost entirely unlike strawberries.

Shizuru unsubtly guided him away from the drummer witch, past more stands selling sizzling foods, and booths with buckets of fish, Tshirts, and trinkets in color palettes that would make Dumbledore's tailor hex himself out of sheer envy. Children shrieked in glee, playing games and toting plastic baggies of prize goldfish about.

The sound of the drum faded away, replaced by modern music blaring from a radio van and stage at the next intersection, and the crowd thinned. Streetlights flickered on overhead as they turned the corner, a grassy strip opening up between the cordoned-off streets and the concrete slope down to the river.

More Muggles were here, families crammed on blankets, bits of debris scattered about, sputtering radios playing a cacophony of different stations. Balloons bobbed above empty strollers, their occupants giggling or howling under caretakers' watchful eyes.

"Different from wizards?" Shizuru asked abruptly.

Draco drew himself up, swallowing the last of his shaved ice. "Of course," he sneered. Proper wizards were far more impressive and less plebian. A bit of wrapping blew over his foot, and he kicked it irritably away. And much less plastic-happy.

Shizuru made a soft sound that didn't resemble agreement in the least, and pointed him at a trash bin. They didn't exchange any more words through the remainder of the twilight, or the less than impressive fireworks display. (The soundtrack for it, played over the many sputtering radios, struck Draco as a novel concept, but the display itself came only in circles and ovals. Not so much as a triangle, much less dragons.)

Just before the finale, Shizuru turned to him with a put-upon sigh. "You're bored," she stated.

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes. It had taken her this long to notice? He'd been bored the whole summer.

"May as well leave, then. Better to miss the crowd."

The train back to the Kuwabara's neighborhood was nearly empty, and the platform silent and dark. Shizuru looked around after they got off, gaze flicking around the lifeless streets. A long moment passed as she tapped a cigarette out of her pack, then she said, "The heat must've broken a generator somewhere. Cast a light spell."

Draco snapped his head around to stare at her, aghast. "Among _Muggles?_"

"Just do it, Draco-san," she mumbled tiredly, lighting up. "Anybody looking will assume you've got a flashlight."

_A what?_ But Draco didn't say this, instead pulling his wand from his pocket in something of a daze. Magic, to do magic, over the hols, out in public... wait. "They won't detect it?" It hadn't been an issue within Malfoy Manor, but off the grounds was a different story.

Shizuru pinned him with a withering look. "You're in Japan. We don't bother here."

_Reeeally..._ Draco suppressed a grin, filing that information away for later. Maybe he could cast a glamour and hide from both Voldemort and Kurama in Japan, then. Away from Shizuru. After he had a bit of time to plan it out, of course.

"_Lumos_," he murmured. His wand sparked, the tip glowing a cool white, and Draco angled it downwards at the pavement. They headed out into the inky night.

Their footsteps echoed off the concrete fences lining the streets; a small stretch of single-family homes between the station and Shizuru's apartment. There were no cars parked on the street here, all of them neatly under flimsy shelters within the property gates.

If power was the subliminal sign of wizarding places, noise was the sign of Muggle places. The hum of their fizzling lights and air-cooling boxes, their photo albums and plumbing, had been completely unnoticeable until Draco set foot into a Muggle neighborhood without it. No candles or lamps burned in the windows; nobody sang, nobody laughed, no babies cried. Nothing moved save for Draco and Shizuru, not a flicker within the houses or a soul outside. It was as if Muggles had forgotten how to exist without their ekelcitrity.

Shizuru finished a cigarette, and started another from the red-glowing ember of the first.

Something rustled. Draco leapt back, knocking into Shizuru, eyes flicking up at a wall to see...

"Oh. Cat," he murmured sheepishly. He was getting too keyed up. He pulled away from Shizuru, took a step, and nearly ran facefirst into a row of six-inch fangs.

Draco flung himself backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling flat on his back, and the monster lunged.

Shizuru fell to a crouch between them and blew a stream of smoke into its face.

The beast screeched (what the hell had she done!), rearing up, twisting away, and swiping blindly at Shizuru with four-inch claws. She ducked, falling half onto Draco, and blew more smoke at it. "A hex would be appreciated right about now, foreigner!" she shouted, before shoving against Draco. They rolled away in opposite directions.

The monster leapt to its feet with glass-shattering roar, a whiplike tail lashing as it twisted towards Draco.

_Oh shit._ He cast the first spell he could think of: a Jelly-Legs jinx, and the monster collapsed again, thrashing.

Directly on the other side of the monster, he saw Shizuru lunge, spinning a kick at its head. The tail whipped around and smacked against her balancing leg, knocking her down once more.

The beast threw itself at Draco, claws gouging tracks into the sidewalk, maw gaping.

_I'm going to die_, Draco thought, flinging his arms instinctively before his face.

Something crashed numbingly against the length of his arm, and the beast screeched again, this time more muffled. No searing pain lanced over Draco, as he remembered from the maddened hippogryff of his third year; he peeked between his arms.

The monster's mouth was packed with crystal. It shook its head, screeching that muffled shriek again, backing up a step.

Then Shizuru reappeared, an arm locked around the monster's neck, stabbing her cigarette between its eyes.

The crystal in its jaws shattered under the beast's shrieks. It thrashed wildly, flailing and bucking, and Draco scrambled hastily out from under its claws.

He stared as Shizuru clung to the beast, as it smacked her against the ground and wall, roaring. A claw snapped around, cutting deep into her already-bloodstained leg. Then, it stiffened, red eyes widening, and collapsed.

Shizuru stayed there a minute more, breathing hard, tense and waiting. But it didn't move again. Finally, she dragged herself off the carcass, pushed her hair out of her face, and met Draco's eyes.

"Exciting enough for you?" she asked tartly.

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TBC

A/N's -

- I really feel like I'm abusing both the letter and the phone call technique.

- Back to the Suzuki/Suzuka issue. It's Suzuki in the original, Suzuka in the dub.

- I'm hoping All Nippon Airways existed at this point in time. Expedia shows they have a direct flight from Tokyo Narita to London Heathrow. Strange that the cheapest flight is the most direct, most convenient, and a roundtrip ticket... the one-ways cost twice as much, have layovers, and are on different airlines.

- 145,110 yen equals about 1312.90 dollars (I scaled down a couple hundred for inflation). I love my currency converter.

- Poor Shiori.

- Kurama is being a complete fanservice ho. I think I managed to hit on every facet of his personality except "fighting to the death" Kurama. Hiei should've never written that letter.

- The garden's behavior inspired and taken from Tamora Pierce's Circle series.

- Draco is at Sumidagawa Hanabi, a fireworks festival in Tokyo on the last Saturday of July.

- Shaved ice does not equal snow-cone. It's apparently a lot finer-ground and more snowy.


	6. Check and Mate

Warnings, disclaimers, all that rot.

A/N's -

- Sorry about the delay. I discovered a huge problem with one of the main subplots, and trying to fix it has been extremely distracting. And I also had Yaoicon. And various friends shoved me (kicking and screaming, mind you) into three new fandoms. And god am I sick of this chapter by now.

- Everybody seems to think Neville's Gran is being ZOMGevil and abusive for grounding him. She's not. She's reacting like a modern parent who found their teenager cruising porn sites or something, and being quite reasonable from her perspective. I'm not even being historically or culturally accurate. Considering the mesh of eras that wizarding culture is made up of, a more likely punishment for Neville would have been a whipping. Be glad I didn't.

- It will be sixth year when school starts up again.

- All hail Dad, who rescued the first scene with his l33t logic skillz.

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CHAPTER STARTS

Ch. 6 - Check and Mate

_He stood in a darkened room, stone raspy and cold under bare feet._

_"Lumos," he whispered, and a ball of cool light flared dimly before him. It floated upwards, free, and only then did he realize his hands held no wand._

_A faint glimmer in the corner of his vision made him turn. Silver gleamed in squares over the wall behind him; elaborate picture frames, ranging from palm-sized to barrel-, carvings impossible to make out in the dim glow._

_He stepped closer, the light automatically angling with him, illuminating the canvases. A cityscape, brick and steel buildings looming, the nearest wall pulsing red-blue-red with police lights. A flat moor, gray-black land against a sky stained blue-black with twilight and the full moon. Gleaming white cliffs over a strip of sand, frothy waves crashing upon the shore. Candles lighting a massive cave. A jagged stream tumbling, thin and frigid-looking, down a mountainside littered with rocks. A cluster of standing stones._

_And in every picture, a figure in black robes and a white mask..._

Harry woke with the strangest sensation that his mind was trying to crawl out of his head in a dozen different directions.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Look," Shizuru said, gesturing out the window.

Draco followed her gaze outside. It seemed a perfectly ordinary day, judging from what he'd seen over the past month. Muggles, more Muggles, concrete, and more Muggles. "Look at what?"

"The children," Shizuru answered. "The little ones in the street."

There were some there, Draco noticed as he looked again. Three of them, perhaps four years old, playing with a tan ball. "What about them?" They seemed Muggle enough, though barefoot and in short, plain versions of the strange local robes he'd seen at the festival.

"They're back."

Back. Right. And Draco should care... why? "Are they wizards?" he asked, flatly burying any note of hope in his voice.

Shizuru made a soft, noncommittal sound, and sipped at her iced tea.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Draco said.

"They aren't Muggles."

... oh.

Well, he had nothing better to do, except try to find something of interest on the 'television'. Since that had been a dismal failure the entire summer (he hadn't understood the storylines for any of the 'anime' picture-plays, and the rest was so horribly... Muggle), he stayed watching at the window as the children scrambled after their ball.

They looked to be laughing, though of course the street was too far away to hear, especially over the hum of the 'electric fan' by the window. And, personally, Draco would've thought the dark pavement of the street was too hot for bare feet, but they didn't seem to notice as they scampered over it, shimmering in the afternoon heat.

"Wizards, huh?" Draco asked.

"They aren't wizards."

"Not...?"

"_Watch,_" Shizuru repeated. "Three. Two. One."

The smallest child batted the ball through a telephone pole, and ran through after it.

Draco blinked. "You've got ghosts." Rather more colorful (literally) than the kind he was used to, but still ghosts. The shimmering hadn't been the afternoon heat. Another comforting touch of magic in a Muggle land.

"No," she murmured, shaking her head. "Just echoes."

"Echoes?"

"Memories. A psychic imprint left in the land... the people are gone. Maybe wizards, maybe Muggles, maybe demons. But long since dead."

An old woman, bent double under a basket, stepped out of a fence. The children abandoned their ball and crowded around her, bouncing on little feet.

Draco turned to look at her. "And you just let them..." He didn't know how to finish that sentence.

"Once every year." Shizuru didn't glance at him. "It was their home, too. We can't begrudge them that."

"... how?"

A shrug.

Draco looked out at the children again, tugging at the old woman's robes, mouths moving rapidly. _If this fan weren't on, would I hear them? 'Grandma, grandma, lookit this!'_

The old woman dug into her basket and handed each of the children a small apple, making them shriek in delight.

_What were you?_ Draco wondered. He let his gaze slide over to Shizuru, watching the family's memory play out on her street, her expression carefully blank. He opened his mouth to ask, then paused.

"Something to say, Draco-san?" Shizuru asked.

They were just a memory. "... no. Nothing at all."

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Leaning back against the Longbottom's prickly garden wall, Kurama sighed as he munched ruefully on a sticky Muggle breakfast bar. He'd gotten scarcely three hours of sleep; between a late sunset, two hours of twilight, and a full moon, it simply hadn't been dark enough. And then, right on schedule, the magic had begun increasing shortly after midnight...

Well. Kurama had given up and broken camp around 3 am, rinsing off in a cold little stream before taking up the five-kilometer trek to Neville's. (He would have camped closer, but the nearest town was another five kilometers in the opposite direction, and there was just something Kurama liked about being able to get hot showers.) So now he sat, cold and wearing slightly rumpled clothing, watching the sun evaporate the dew and feeling the soothing sense of his magic rising, ripe and heavy.

Speaking of which... Kurama pulled an orange seed from his hair. He could afford to spare the power to grow a better breakfast, today. He skipped the 'tree' parts of the growing... bad of him, but Mrs. Longbottom would probably notice if branches began appearing in view of her kitchen window... and went straight to flower, then fruit.

Of course, Neville couldn't miss the flare of power, Kurama thought as he peeled the orange and bit into it. Would Neville let him get farther than the garden, today? Not that Kurama _minded_ soothing the plants and keeping them from pulling the house down on Neville's head, but it had been ten days. Ten DAYS, and Kurama hadn't made any headway with the boy himself. The garden, he'd managed to tame to "unkempt" rather than "jungle" levels, sneaking over the walls and manfully ignoring the bite of the shattered wards while Mrs. Longbottom was out, but it was a daily effort and getting harder. Neville's power was only strengthening in confinement.

It didn't bode well for the four weeks remaining of summer.

Kurama glanced up as a plume of faintly green-tinted smoke burst from the chimney: Mrs. Longbottom, taking the Floo for the daily groceries. She apparently liked to get to the markets early in the morning, beating the crowds and getting the pick of the wares. Today being Thursday, she was probably also going to buy spell components before the weekend spike in prices, and stop at the pub for a drink.

Tossing the remains of his orange away, Kurama set his hand on top of the garden wall and (ignoring the sting of the wards) pulled himself lightly over into the property. Lessee... the morning glories were about as subdued as they were going to get at this hour... the columbines were drooping; they'd been overfed... the butterfly bush needed pruning _again_, hadn't he done that just yesterday?... and the west half of the garden was popping up fennel shoots like they were weeds. What a mess. He tied back his hair and went to work.

He'd cleared out the front beds and pulled ivy off all the ground-floor windows (again) by the time an owl hooted overhead. Odd... the Longbottoms hadn't gotten mail the entire time Kurama had been there. Kurama wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, leaving an itchy streak of dirt as he squinted up into the bright sky.

Two owls swooped downwards, thick packets encased in their talons.

_Two?_ Kurama thought, setting his trowel aside and standing up. With just letters, you'd only need one for one address... except wizarding letters had magically-changing addresses, and the larger owl was aiming directly for Kurama.

Automatically, Kurama stretched out his arms, catching the packet and letting the large owl land on him. The smaller owl settled on the windowsill, tapping impatiently at the glass.

"That hasn't worked for me at all," Kurama told it, slitting open his envelope and freeing the parchment inside.

Ordinary Wizarding Levels Results

Pass Grades Fail Grades

Outstanding (O)Poor (P)

Exceeds Expectations (E)Dreadful (D)

Acceptable (A)Troll (T)

Kurama Shuiichi Minamino has achieved:

Ancient RunesE

ArithmancyA

AstronomyA

CharmsE

Defense Against the Dark ArtsO

HerbologyO

History of MagicP

PotionsO

TransfigurationE

It was about what he'd expected, though he wasn't pleased with the History grade. Ah well. Kurama swung his arm upwards, sending the larger owl off. Then he turned to the window just as the smaller owl screeched and scrabbled at the glass.

Kurama looked into the house to see Neville hovering by the window. He raised his parchment. "OWL results," he said clearly. Neville blanched, biting his lip.

The owl battered at the window demandingly. It must be new to be so poorly trained, Kurama thought, reaching out to take the letter. From the corner of his eye, he saw Neville's hand move, flicking open the lock...

_ohshit!_

... and Neville yanked the window open.

The garden all but exploded.

"GET BACK!" Kurama yelled, leaping in the way and clamping down with his magic. Branches and vines curled around his body, shoving him towards the house. His head cracked painfully against the top of the window, breaking his concentration for an instant. "Down! Bad! No!"

A wing smacked Kurama in the face. The owl, panicked and screeching, swiped his talons along Kurama's arm. "Ow--!" The world spun. Kurama suddenly found himself flat on his back in the Longbottom's kitchen, no longer blocking the excited garden flowers from plastering themselves to Neville.

"I said _down_, dammit!" Kurama yelled, throwing every last scrap of power he had at the plants. It slowed them down, just as they knocked Neville off his feet. _Dammit, dammit, dammit, this is exactly what I wanted to avoid! He's going to be terrified of his power AGAIN..._

Neville shrieked with laughter.

_... or not. _ Kurama rolled over, pushing himself halfway up.

"_Get-em-off get-em-off get-em-off I'm ticklish...!"_ Neville shrieked, kicking in the vines' grip.

Ticklish. _Ticklish._ If Kurama hadn't been expecting a painful accident and disaster, he would've laughed incredulously. How best to use this...?

"Oh, but Neville, they've missed you," Kurama said smoothly. "You've been here teasing them for weeks... I think a little payback is in order, don't you?"

"_Noooo..."_

"Seriously, though, it's your power animating them," Kurama continued, sobering. "And right now, they're like dogs. Really big, dumb, adoring dogs. So..." how to put this? "... if you can figure out how to collar and leash them, you'll be fine."

That got nothing but a pained half-laugh, half-whimper out of Neville, so Kurama stood, dusting himself off. "Really, Neville, you're the plant master, but if you don't start acting like it they WILL take advantage." Kurama stepped over a trailing vine, and began rummaging through cabinets for the sole purpose of goading Neville. "It happened to me," Kurama added, lying, as he found tea. "They think you want to play."

He could hear Neville having trouble breathing.

"Just like a dog," Kurama murmured again, meaning the plants. Where was... ah, the kettle. And the stove had wood burning in it already. He set the water on to heat, then caught sight of an owl huddled high in the corner over the pantry. Oh yes. The post that had started this whole mess.

Kurama found leftover bacon, a very small amount, in the icebox, and enticed the owl down with it. Taking Neville's letter, he sent the poor bird out a different window, then searched out teacups, finding a couple of biscuits in the process.

Power sputtered weakly behind Kurama as he took the kettle off the stove, then more firmly. As Kurama set the tea to steep, he felt the power flare properly and catch hold. "Bravo," he murmured, turning to see.

The plants lay quiescent over the floor, almost worshipfully still. Neville lay next to them, panting, his face wet with reactionary tears that Kurama pretended didn't exist. He stepped over and crouched next to Neville, smiling. "I knew you'd get it," he said, simply.

"Oww..."

"I made tea, if you'd like."

Neville flopped out a hand wordlessly. Kurama grabbed it and stood, pulling to help the boy up. Two steps, and Neville dropped heavily into his chair, sinking his head onto his hands as his breathing steadied out. Kurama waited a beat, but the boy didn't move. So he poured a cup, took the other seat, and pushed the sugar across the table.

"You knew that would happen," Neville stated roughly.

Kurama just managed to not fumble his own tea, and hummed noncommittally. Neville was on the right track... would he keep going?

"You knew I'd get jumped the instant I cracked a window, or set foot outside..." Neville paused a moment, realizing what he'd just said, and his expression shifted to open bewilderment. "... So why have you been trying to get me to..." He trailed off.

"Go outside?" Kurama finished for him, then shrugged. "The longer it took, the worse it would be."

"You could have just _told_ me."

Kurama's hands tightened on his teacup. _Told you how? 'Neville, you need to disobey your grandmother and come risk getting killed, because I don't know how to tell you that plants don't understand that you can be stabbed or strangled when they're moving in response to your power and mood. And in fact, you're the only plant mage proven to survive childhood without outside training in over a thousand years, thanks to your grandmother and your ability to repress.' How was I supposed to say that without scaring you right back into wasting all that power and potential you've got?_

Finally, Kurama said, "You're the oldest untrained plant mage in over a thousand years. And I'm the youngest," _and oldest_, "master."

Neville stared at him, a blank look upon his face. "So?"

"So... most of the records don't apply. I don't entirely know what I'm doing, or how to act. We're the same age, but I'm so far ahead of being even your _senpai_..." Kurama paused, noticing the word, and put a hand to his head. "... and that concept doesn't even translate to you."

Silence. Then, in a small voice, Neville said, "I'm sorry."

Kurama blinked, gaze snapping up from his tea. Neville was staring at the tabletop, slightly too pale. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Neville repeated. "I didn't know." Under Kurama's stare, he barely managed to keep from shrinking in on himself, as he rushed on, "That I... that you... that I've been so difficult. That you're not this senpai thing. That... I just..." He came to a stuttering halt. "I'm sorry."

Oh, for gods' sake. "And when did I tell you?" Kurama asked rhetorically.

"... um..."

"Exactly. Never. And I'm pretty sure you aren't psychic."

Neville bit his lip, then blurted, "But I'm so SLOW! I mean, you're a master and... and..." his gaze flicked to the vines lying hopefully on the floor next to the table, "I'm screwing things up and can't even control my own garden. You had to leave your family for the whole summer and everything."

Kurama snorted in exasperation, catching Neville's attention, and leaned across the table. "You want to know something?" he began sharply, staring directly into Neville's wide eyes. "I've been training since I could walk. I've worked til I dropped on several occasions, building up my strength and control. Even then, I wasn't able to handle Reikai plants until I was five, and Makai ones until I was nine." Partly because he hadn't been able to get them, partly because his near-death had done considerable magical damage that had needed to heal, and partly because a human child's body just plain couldn't DO some things. But still...

He jabbed a finger at the other boy's chest. "You, Neville... you managed a Reikai plant within a matter of months. You'll be able to deal with the Makai ones in another year. I may have no idea what I'm doing with you, but somewhere we're managing to do it _right_."

Neville was rapidly turning red, but Kurama held his gaze another moment, challengingly. _That had better hold your confidence in one piece for a long while, because you need every shred you can get_, Kurama thought.

"... really?" Neville whispered.

Kurama let himself untense, leaning back in his seat once more and looking away. "Um. Well." He took a sip of his tea, and swallowed. "Yes." And while it didn't bother him that Neville was faster, considering that he was far more short-lived, it did gall him that he'd had to say it. And so bluntly, too. "I have my theories as to why, but we'll just leave it that you're good, okay?"

"O... okay." Neville offered him a shy smile, and started to finish his tea. Then he froze, eyes going wide as he looked around the kitchen. "Oh no..."

"What?"

"Gran's going to be _furious!"_

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Three days later, four after Harry's largely-ignored birthday, Harry sat silently next to Ron's bed at St. Mungo's. He'd long since stopped bringing anything to read to his best friend; a number of random words had a bad tendency to set the Longbottoms to shrieking. And it was bloody awkward, trying to talk to somebody who couldn't respond.

He didn't want to stay and stare at his friend. Ron should be awake, playing Exploding Snap and daring him to eat random Every-Flavor beans, and talking Quidditch around mouthfuls of Chocolate Frogs.

But he didn't want to go back to the Dursleys, either. Arthur had taken him aside that first day, speaking quickly while his wife was distracted talking to the twins. All of the Weasley children had been in St. Mungo's or the Infirmary at some point, what with Quidditch injuries, schoolyard hexes, and the twins' antics, but nobody had been in the long-term ward since Molly's brothers had died in the war.

Harry shivered. That was NOT happening to Ron. It was a mysterious illness, yes, but he'd be fine. Eventually. Right?

A gentle hand fell on his shoulder. Harry blinked, looking up to see a familiar, but haggard, man. "Professor...?"

"Visiting hours are over, Harry," Remus Lupin said quietly. "And I'm not your professor."

Harry was never going to get used to that. "Lupin," he repeated. Then, "What are you doing here? You look..." Abruptly, he remembered the date, and dropped his voice. "The full moon was just two days ago."

Lupin nodded. "Which is why I couldn't come any earlier. I'm sorry."

"Come any...? But Ron's been here for a week."

"Ah..." Remus shook his head. "Not that I wouldn't be willing to visit with Ronald, but what I meant was to pick you up from the Dursleys."

Harry blinked at him, speechless. He... _wasn't_ stuck at the Dursleys the rest of the summer?

Lupin seemed to mistake his silence. "I'm sorry, Harry. I know you didn't ask, but I was under the impression... am I wrong?"

_"Wrong?"_ Harry blurted, and the relief in his voice made Remus relax. "Hell no!" Ack, bad wording. "Sorry, Prof- Lupin. You're not wrong. Not at all. Um, how soon can we leave?"

"Considering visiting hours were over five minutes ago..." Remus said pointedly.

Harry sobered. Right. He turned to look down awkwardly at Ron. Pale and still and so very, very _wrong_ in that bed... "Um. See you..." he glanced back up at Lupin, "tomorrow?"

"Perhaps the day after," Remus murmured.

"Er, what he said." And he let Remus steer him out of the room.

Once in the elevator, Remus offered him a sheepish look. "I hope you don't mind, but I... er... may have taken the liberty of retrieving your things from your relatives' house. It would be a bit late to fetch them at this hour, after all."

Merlin, the man thought of everything. "No problem at all, Lupin," Harry said with considerable relief. "Um... did you find the stuff under the floorboards?"

"Floorboards?" Remus echoed, blankly. Harry looked away to hide his disappointment (he'd left several books and his knife there), and Remus continued, "I should hope so. I didn't want to bother your relatives too long, so I just... _Accio_ Harry's Hogwarts belongings and a _Reparo_ in case they hadn't been laying out."

"Oh." That was... that had probably freaked the Dursleys out worse than anything else Remus could've done, except come as Moony. Harry didn't stop the slow grin spreading over his face. "Thanks."

"Oh, and Harry?" Remus grinned, a mixture of false apology and amusement. "I hope you don't mind dogs. I've acquired this rather dumb mutt recently..."

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Yuki yowled plantively in Hiei's pocket.

"Oh, shut up," Hiei grumbled, well aware it wouldn't work. The damn cat had been noisy all night, and breakfast had long since passed.

He should be in Scotland by now, but he'd had to go and cover Kuwabara's route through Wales. Not that he'd found anything but a few random ghosts and an earthwork wall still laced with ancient magic. So not only had the effort been wasted, but he hadn't been able to stop at Longbottom's as he'd told Kurama he would, he'd been reduced to taking the Muggle trains to conserve his strength, and now he was stuck with a neurotic cat in the middle of the most horrifically Muggle neighborhood he'd ever had the misfortune to see.

Hiei tapped irritably at Yuusuke's window, ignoring the damn cat (who was now twisting oddly in her little home in his coat, mewling).

Yuusuke slid the window open, messy-haired and blinking sleepily. "Hiei? Whatcha doin' here, man?" Hiei didn't answer. "Come on in," Yuusuke added, getting out of the way to let Hiei do so. "Didn't expect to see you at all this summer. You here about Harry or somethin'?"

"Something," Hiei muttered, meaning 'no'. He dug Yuki out of his coat and let her loose on the floor.

"Huh." Yuusuke dropped lazily back onto his bed. "Well, you're a few days too late. The bastards moved him."

Hiei blinked, sidetracked. "They what?"

"Moved. Him," Yuusuke repeated. "Somebody 'forgot' to mention he doesn't stay here through August. Oops."

"Which leaves you conveniently right here under their thumbs," Hiei stated.

"Gee, thanks for telling me, could never have figured that out all on my own."

Hiei snorted. "You want an excuse out?"

"Tell me you've got one." Then Yuusuke paused warily. "... and I'll consider it."

The kid was learning, Hiei thought approvingly. "Kuwabara got sick." Yuusuke nodded, aware of that. "I had to cover most of his route. Take part of mine." _And pretend you can't figure out that's what I stopped by in the first place to ask._

Yuusuke raised an eyebrow, sitting up slowly. "Where?"

"Northeast England and the Scottish border," Hiei answered. He glanced around, and pulled a newspaper from the desk. He flipped through it, finding the weather map across from the missing persons column. "Here," he said, pointing. "Edinburgh and south."

Examining the poor map, Yuusuke nodded. "I get expenses paid, right?"

Hiei flipped him one of the credit cards Genkai had given him. "Don't waste it on fancy hotels and crap."

Yuusuke made a face, but said, "Sounds like a better deal than putting up with this place. Didja know Harry's cousin is a wannabe-badass pig?"

"No," Hiei said shortly.

"Lucky you."

There was a moment of silence. Then, Yuusuke looked down at the cat twining around his ankles, and blinked. "Hiei... is your cat in heat?"

Hiei stared. Oh _crap._

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The next Monday found Harry back at the hospital. After spending most of the weekend grubbing around in the Scottish mud with Padfoot, subtly forbidden from doing anything except relax and enjoy himself, St. Mungo's didn't seem nearly so depressing. And hey, he'd been away for a few days, maybe Ron would seem noticeably better by now.

He stepped into the long-term ward, not quite cheerfully but in much better spirits than he'd been when Remus fetched him. As he approached Ron's curtained-off bed, he heard someone talking.

"..passably good, I suppose," Ginny said. It sounded like she was answering a question. "Ron always wins, of course, but I can hold my own for a half-hour or so."

"Excellent."

Harry blinked. He knew that voice. What was Professor Genkai doing here?

"We want to bring him out of this gently," Genkai continued. "If you would...?"

"What exactly do you want me to do?" Ginny asked.

"Take black and slip into the game. That should get Mr. Weasley back on track."

Harry stepped past the curtain divider, to find the youngest Weasley seated at a small table, facing away from him. Genkai stood next to her, gesturing at... was that Ron's chess set?

"Professor?" he asked.

Ginny jumped, and twisted in her chair. "H... Harry! You're early!"

Genkai tapped Ginny's elbow with her knuckle. "Play, girl." Ginny went faintly red, and hastily turned back to the game. It seemed to be in progress already, lumpy pieces scattered all about the board. They moved at a dizzying pace, white-black-white, three pieces scooting across the board before Ginny could catch one.

... wait. Ron was unconscious. Who was playing the game?

"What's going on?" Harry asked, as Ginny caught a small black blob... a pawn, probably... and moved it. The game came to a quivering halt, almost as if dazed.

Genkai snorted approvingly. "Miss Weasley owled me this morning," she said, gaze sharply focused on the pieces shifting to recognizeable forms. "She wanted to know if the game... which she noticed in this state yesterday... might have something to do with his current malady."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. "... and?" he managed.

A curt nod. "I'll be surprised if it's not. Though what on earth Mr. Weasley could have found so important as to attempt to use a strategic game to aid in abstract thinking, I'd like to know," she added, bitingly.

"Is that bad?" Harry asked.

She jerked her chin at the hospital bed. "What do you think?" she asked wryly. Harry had no answer to that, but Genkai didn't seem to expect one. "I can't imagine why else his game would be working. Usually you have to be conscious to expend magic..." she trailed off, scowling. "Unless he's being purposely drained, but in that case he'd be dead by now." She shook her head. "No. This has to be his own doing."

"But... how?"

"I flat-out told you kids core magic was dangerous," Genkai said. "Malfoy even proved my point. Reckless kids."

"Hey, give us some credit," Harry snapped automatically. When Genkai cast a sharp look sidelong at him, he paused only a moment, then bulled onwards. "You encouraged experiments. 'Reckless' just means 'it didn't work'." Hey, that sort of made sense. But Genkai was staring at him as if he'd just eaten a Canary Cream. Harry met her eyes squarely, refusing to back down. He had a point, dammit.

Finally, she quirked the corner of her mouth upwards. "There might be more than rocks in that skull of yours, after all."

"I'm out in three moves," Ginny announced, voice tight.

Genkai turned to her. "So soon?"

"I... I think he's _better_ like this, somehow. I haven't lost so fast since I was nine." She pushed her rook forward, only for Ron's knight to leap on it and bash it from the board. "Two moves."

Harry bit his lip. If Genkai was right, Ron would wake up in just a few minutes.

Ginny moved, and another black piece fell from the board. Ron twitched.

"Hold it." Genkai lifted a hand, making Ginny freeze. "We want to keep the shock down. Potter, dim the lights." Harry did so, and pulled the curtains fully closed for good measure. Genkai nodded. "Right, then... last move, Miss Weasley. Gentle, now."

Biting her lip, Ginny pushed her last piece into place, and watched it go flying from the board. Her king was trapped. Ron's queen... Molly... crossed the board to face Ginny's king. "I lose," Ginny whispered.

Ron spasmed in the bed, eyes flying open as he gasped.

Genkai caught him by the arms. "Steady there, Mr. Weasley," she said quietly. "You're all right. Take a deep breath and relax." Ron obeyed with marginal success, hands curling into claws as he untensed enough to start to shake. Genkai pulled his hands open before he could break the skin. "Say something, Mr. Weasley."

"... ch..." Ron's voice caught, and he took in a shuddering breath. Then, whispering, he got out, "... check and mate."

Ginny choked on a sound that could have been a sob or a laugh. Harry glanced over at her, catching the gleam of tears in her eyes and a fist pressed against a wavering smile.

"Very good," Genkai continued. "Now, you're in St. Mungo's. Had a little accident with your core magic, do you remember that?"

Ron shook his head, mouth opening soundlessly.

"Potter, some water," Genkai ordered. Harry grabbed for the jug on the bedside table, and Ginny held out a glass.

"It's mine, but... it's not like we haven't shared plates before," she murmured. Then her voice dropped further, and Harry was barely able to hear her next words. "Oh Merlin... I wasn't sure it would work..."

Ack. "Er, but it did," Harry said. "You did good."

Ginny burst into relieved tears.

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TBC

A/N's -

- the echoes-not-spirits is me trying to splice things so that Obon works with the system I'm operating in.

- senpai: one's senior or elder, as someone in a school grade ahead of yours, or a co-worker hired prior to you. Implies some responsibility for explaining how things are done, etc. The reverse, one's junior, is kouhai.

- the full moon, as it applies to werewolves, is three nights long: the night of, the night before, and the night after the full moon.


	7. Distracted

Warnings, disclaimers, I need chocolate...

A/N's -

- Heh. According to _The Handbook of Japanese Mythology_, I'm not that far off with what I'm doing with Obon.

- If people are dying to know how Nev's Gran reacted to Kurama in her kitchen, well... why would he wait to get caught?

- after much writer's block and internal debate, I've cut the chapter in half. So it's a lot shorter than was originally planned, but now I can post before my trip. Then I'll have the next plot twist in GO8 and finish up the summer, and be back at Hogwarts by Ch. 10.

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CHAPTER STARTS

Ch. 7 - Distracted

Six days after Ron had woken at St. Mungo's, and two after he'd been released to go home, Harry fell out of the Floo at the Burrow in a shower of soot. He narrowly avoided squashing the basket Remus had insisted on sending along with him, getting a good jab in the ribs from it.

A large hand, clad in fingerless leather gloves, caught Harry by the arm, hauling him back to his feet and steadying him. Another pulled the basket of crockery from where it had lodged itself in Harry's side.

"What's this... food?" Harry looked up at Bill Weasley, who'd helped him up and was peering into the basket. "You know Mum's going to fuss and refuse to take this, Harry," he continued.

"Tell Lupin that," Harry said wryly, peering around. The Burrow was... unusually quiet. "Where is everybody?" Harry asked.

Bill grinned. "Percy and Dad are working overtime, the twins are at their shop, and Mum and the girls have Ron trapped upstairs." His grin crooked wider. "I believe there's tea involved."

Figured. Molly was a force of nature when it came to sick kids in the house, as Harry remembered all too well from last year. And Ron didn't have a pair of twins around today to sneak him downstairs, or the excuse that it was 'only Voldemort' making him seem ill. "Is it too late to escape?" Harry asked, jokingly.

"Way too late," Bill told him, giving Harry a light shove towards the stairs. "Go on up."

The Burrow's configuration had changed again, the staircase straightened out to be wide and long in a more Muggle style (probably to help move convalescents up and down them). The twins' door stood open, their room piled with a mix of trunks and clutter, none of which was smoking, fluorescent, glowing, or strange-smelling for once. Bill and Charlie's room on the fourth landing, on the other hand, also had an open door, and now was empty of the same clutter and showed signs of occupancy.

Harry bypassed it, turning into the still-narrow half-length staircase leading up to Ron's room. Harry rapped lightly on the doorjamb as he stuck his head into the room. "Hey."

"Harry!" Ron, all but cowering and glowering in his bed, shoved his cup of tea aside with unmistakable relief. Hermione set hers aside as well, turning to face Harry with a welcoming smile. On the far side of Ron's bed, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley offered identical beaming smiles, both visibly edged with the euphoric relief that had been there since the healers had pronounced Ron recovered.

"Hi, guys," Harry said. To Mrs. Weasley, he added, "Sorry I didn't knock… Bill said I should just…" Out of Mrs. Weasley's line-of-sight, Harry saw Ron's gaze flick pointedly to the tea set, then the redhead mouthed 'help!' Harry finished, "come on up. He's in the kitchen, I think… Lupin sent a basket of stuff."

The distraction worked like a charm. Molly's eyes went stormy. "Oh, he didn't have to do that…" And she left, muttering about Remus' unemployment and 'two more mouths to feed', and the appetites of growing boys and overgrown dogs.

The teens listened automatically to Mrs. Weasley until the footsteps faded out of sight, then Harry and the girls turned as one to Ron. He pressed backwards against his pillows.

"All right, Ron," Hermione said, eyes bright. "We know Genkai talked to you. Spill! What _happened_ to you!"

"Why did I know you would ask that?" he muttered. Ginny's glare sharpened. "Okay! Um. Best guess?" More glaring. "Right. Best guess." He thought for a moment, then nodded sharply. "I was trying to figure out the side effects of my core magic and walked right into it."

Silence. Then…

"The what?" Harry.

"Core magic?" Ginny.

"Oh, _Ron_." Hermione, exasperated. "Didn't you take any precautions at _all_?"

Ron shook his head. "Figures you'd know about it. How was I supposed to know what I was doing? I told you, I was just trying to figure out what they were!"

"And so, what, you just thought 'oh, gee, I've been told there's potentially dangerous side effects to my magic, I think I'll play around with it and see what it takes to get hurt'!"

"NO! I'm not that bloody stupid, Hermione!"

But Hermione didn't seem to be listening. "Why did you think I warned you two to watch me that time I wrote out my research on unicorn blood?"

"Hermione, what side effects?" Harry asked.

"What's core magic?" Ginny repeated.

Hermione glanced at Ginny. "Core magic's what Professor Genkai teaches in fifth year and up." Then she turned a stern look on the boys. "And side effects," she said in a huff, "are exactly what they sound like. They're the natural, inescapable extra effects of a person's expressed core magic. Like it seems Ron and I can get so focused that we can't stop. As difficult as that is to believe."

"Hey!"

"Oh."

"But anyway, Ron, where on earth did you hear about side effects? I found the mention in only the most obscure references way in the back of the book…"

"Somebody told me."

"Who? Jaganshi? He's probably the only one in our House who'd bother to know."

"No."

"_Ron."_

Ron muttered something that sounded like, "didn't say I couldn't tell…", then sighed. "Minamino."

Hermione blinked. "Oh. Of course he'd know. He's been practicing the longest, hasn't he."

"He has?"

"… you two never talk to Neville, do you."

"Sure we do! What's that got to do with anything?"

"… never mind. You're okay now, and that's what matters." Hermione sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than them.

"And he won't be doing something stupid like this again," Ginny added, an impish smile hovering on her face. "He'll find an entirely different way to do it."

"You're not helping," Ron grumped.

"Sorry," she said, her tone completely unconvincing. "Anyway, why's the professor having you… us learn such dangerous stuff?"

Harry put his chin in his hands. "Three guesses, and the first two don't count," he said glumly. He glanced pointedly upwards as if he could look at his scar, and Ginny's eyes flew wide.

"… oh." She fell silent for a long moment. "Why aren't we learning regular spells, then?"

Harry glanced at Ron. Had Genkai ever actually told them?

"Because," Hermione said softly, gaze turned inward, "when you're attacked out of the blue, the chances that you'll remember the exact right spell, or even a useful one, are almost zero. Core magic is instinctive. A surprise attack makes it more likely that you can use it, not less… even an uncontrolled blast can be just enough to run away sometimes."

Except they still wouldn't… couldn't… stand a chance against people experienced with core magic. Against demons, who used core magic almost exclusively; Harry remembered that much. Only a handful of students had passed Kurama during Genkai's assessment test. Malfoy had vanished, his crystal magic apparently useless. And that was against a demon who wasn't seriously trying to hurt them (and had, no doubt, been secretly laughing at them the entire time).

Harry opened his mouth to mention the problems, then snapped his mouth shut. He couldn't explain without telling them that Kurama was a demon, and Kurama _hadn't_ ever tried to hurt them. If it were just Hermione and Ron, maybe… but… maybe not. It wasn't Harry's secret to tell. But… Kurama had made Malfoy disappear.

"Harry? Something wrong, mate?"

"Hm? No, nothing." Harry made a point to sit up straighter. "Just stayed up too late last night."

If he hadn't found out what'd happened to Malfoy by the time term started, he'd talk to Hermione. Until then… he'd keep quiet.

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Somewhere in northern Scotland...

"NyaaaaAAAAoooo..."

Hiei absently ducked an empty beer can that came sailing past him, ignoring the accompanying sleepy resident's shout as he hooked his fingers in Yuki's new collar with practiced ease. The can fell among a cluster of rubbish bins with a booming clatter, and Yuki spooked, yowling offense. Her clawtips pricked through Hiei's heavy coat and trousers.

If kittens wouldn't be ten times as irritating as Yuki herself right now, Hiei would let her go haring off after every male cat within a mile of their route. But... _kittens._ Eight weeks or more of unweaned, squeaking, mindless little kittens, in a castle filled with teenage humans. Particularly, teen and preteen human girls, who would squeal and coo and gush.

No. _Hell_ no.

"NyaaaaOOOOOoooo..." Yuki squirmed, and...

"OW! Damn cat!"

... began kneading her paws (and claws) in a far too sensitive part of Hiei's lap. Hiei yanked her up by the scruff of her neck, meeting her baleful glare with one of his own.

"Do NOT make me decide to dump you somewhere."

She licked his nose.

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One morning in the middle of August, Draco found breakfast delayed as Shizuru dug through a closet in the back of the apartment. She pulled out a bright red paper lantern, folded flat, and shook it open.

"What's that?" Draco asked, more out of a need to find out what had delayed breakfast than any real curiosity.

"Lantern for Obon."

"Oh-bone?" What was that?

"It's time to settle our ancestors to rest again," Shizuru said, tilting her head at the window. The ghostly children had been playing outside every day for two weeks; every time Draco had gone anyplace with Shizuru, he'd seen other faded people in oddly-styled clothing wandering the streets. Nobody had acknowledged them, the Muggles couldn't even see them, and they didn't seem to notice the living. It had been surprisingly unnerving, Draco thought, as Shizuru continued, "The lantern will attract them, and in a couple of nights they'll follow us down to the river and we'll send them off with candle boats."

"Riiiiiight." The spirits hadn't acknowledged anything else, why would they pay any heed to a paper lantern?

Shizuru poked him. "Don't scoff. It's a very important responsibility."

"You can't think that stuff works," Draco protested.

"With the number of charms we put on these things," she huffed, "you bet it does."

Wait, what? "Charms?"

"As if they'd notice anything less? They aren't part of the living."

"I meant," Draco said pointedly, "that you've got _charms_ on it." Shizuru gave him a blank look, and Draco tried again. "_You_. Have charms on it."

"Not the kind you're thinking of, but yes." She waited a beat, then rolled her eyes. "You don't seriously still think I'm a _Muggle_?"

Well, actually… actually, yes, he had. "But… but you… but this…" Draco waved helplessly at the surroundings.

"What?"

"You live like a Muggle…" And she did. Not so much as a hovered dish in all the weeks Draco had been there. He'd watched her scrub and 'vaccuum' and sweep and cook, all in the laborious Muggle manner, the chores as natural to her as they'd been unfamiliar to Draco.

"You didn't pay any attention to the fact that I see the spirits and demons that Muggles don't, did you," Shizuru asked rhetorically. Standing, she tapped the paper lantern against his nose. "Just leapt to a conclusion and never questioned it. That's really something you're old enough to start growing out of, you realize."

"What!"

"Now that we've established that I'm a witch, albeit not one you're accustomed to, perhaps you could start asking 'why'."

"Why what?" Draco asked blankly. If she was a witch, then she was a witch and there was no 'why' about it.

She smirked. "When you've figured that out, come ask."

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Kurama spent the 15th alone, first in town to bathe properly and buy supplies, and acquire a bottle of the local brew (using his skills as a thief, but leaving money; it was hardly his fault that he was underage in British terms). He then hiked to one of the numerous standing stones in the area, set the beer and a loaf of bread in offering, and burned a candle for whatever local spirits might still remain. (He'd also called his mother, but had gotten the answering machine.)

He would've washed the stone properly, as well, but if he recalled correctly they weren't grave markers. They were, however, historic artifacts, and he was fairly clear on the international laws about messing with those. Not worth the trouble. And it wouldn't do to upset whatever supernatural beings he'd just appeased.

If they were there. He hadn't seen so much as a flicker during the past two weeks. But Japan's natural barrier against the supernatural was one of the weakest in the world. Maybe things were too unstable here for the local's ancestors to be seen.

But that had been yesterday, and if there were any spirits (ancestral or otherwise) lingering, they should be at rest for another year. It didn't take that much power for Obon to work.

He turned his attention back to his surroundings, stepping out of the trees across from the cottage and up onto the road.Since it was relatively late in the morning… past ten, in fact… and Gran Longbottom would be out, Kurama walked openly up to the front gate and paused. A feral cat stood between him and the gate, attending to a saucer of milk left on the stoop.

So that was the custom here, hm? Milk instead of beer? Hopefully his offering would still be acceptable to the local dead… given the historic and current popularity of the pub, which he'd heard that time he'd gone into town late in the evening, it should be. Leaving the cat to her meal, Kurama circled the house and vaulted over the wall. He landed in a crouch between a pair of bushes.

In a flowerbed off to the side, facing the house, Neville was rooting around in the dirt.

Kurama grinned and straightened. "Hey!"

Neville yelped and spun at the sound, nearly toppling into the weeds. "_Merlin, _Kurama, don't scare me like that!"

"Sorry," Kurama said, not the least bit contrite. "You're out!"

"It's been six weeks." Neville said matter-of-factly, brushing the dirt from his hands. "And my OWLs weren't too bad."

Kurama had seen Neville's OWLs. 'Not too bad' was bullshit. Neville had passed everything, and his Herbology grade was second only to Kurama's. Kurama plopped onto the grass next to Neville. "You never said the punishment was only six weeks."

Neville shrugged. "Only if I behaved and got decent OWLs. She wasn't entirely sure I'd be good the whole time until late last night."

"Then it's a good thing she doesn't know I've been sneaking around, hm?" Kurama asked cheerfully.

"Yes," Neville agreed readily. "And even better that she doesn't stay long enough for the post to arrive." He gave Kurama an almost stern look. "Between your OWLs and this morning…"

Kurama blinked. "What about this morning?"

"You got a package," Neville said, twisting to reach under a nearby shrub. "At least, I think it's for you. I can't read the writing." And he handed Kurama a soft parcel, half the size of a pillow and considerably heavier, wrapped in brown paper and neatly addressed in Japanese characters.

Kurama turned it right-side up, brow furrowing. "It _is_ for me." Confused, he flipped it over and started to slice through the tape with a blade of grass.

"Why wouldn't the owl deliver to…" Neville paused, then finished, "…wherever it is you're staying?"

"I have no idea," Kurama said, unfolding the paper. A bundle of folded plastic, rather like bubble wrap, fell into his hands; a computer printout underneath fluttered to the ground. As Neville automatically reached for the printout, Kurama unrolled the plastic. The 'bubbles', not quite like standard Muggle postal wrap, each contained a few small seeds, or a slice of root, or a twig. "Ah," he murmured, feeling his mouth stretch into a slow, broad grin. "It's because I gave Suzuki this address. You're in for a real treat, Neville."

Neville handed Kurama the printout. "Who's that?" he asked warily.

"Suzuki… is an inventor, potion maker, actor, director, genius," ...ally, eccentric, quixotic demon, temporary clown... "and in this context, my dealer." He ran eager hands over the sealed delivery pockets, and nearly purred. "It's almost impossible to get these, and they cost _so_ much money… but he's got _connections_. These, Neville, are hell seeds." And technically, Kurama could get the whole lot for free, if he wanted to bother spending a year hiking all over the Makai to harvest them fresh.

Neville stared at Kurama, edging slightly away from the plastic. "Hell seeds," he repeated.

"Seeds from the dimension where demons come from," Kurama said, not that he really thought Neville needed the clarification. The boy was staring at the length of plastic wrapping as if the seeds were about to burst into bloom and bite him. Kurama bit back a snicker and trailed his fingers over a row of poison-blue seeds. "I did say Suzuki had connections."

Biting his lip, Neville cautiously asked, "You… you're not expecting _me_ to start working with those… are you?"

"Mm? No. These are mine." Kurama waited a beat, watching Neville relax, then added, "You don't get your part of the harvest til next fall."

Neville choked on a breath, then began waving his hands. "No, no, that's quite all right," he said hastily. "I don't really need… it's, uh, too much. Right. Too much. They're all yours."

Kurama kicked him lightly in the foot. "I'm teaching here, and I say my student gets to learn Makai plants too," he said with mock haughtiness. "Besides, we'll probably never get a chance like this again. It's not like humans can get these at the source."

"Isn't that enough reason not to mess with them?" Neville asked plaintively.

"Exactly the opposite. These are some of the most incredible plants in the three worlds… gliders, bioluminescent vines and such, various instrumentals," he glanced at Neville, and added pointedly, "a number of the best medicinal plants that exist…" Neville's eyes lit up slightly. Hah. Knew that would perk the boy's interest. "And I also got a number of meat-eaters for us to compare to Keiko's tree."

Neville's face fell. "… meat eaters, not man eaters, right?"

"Er… do you really want me to answer that?" At the look Kurama got from the boy, he sighed. "I didn't get anything that tends to grow that big in the wild, but it's not as if they can tell the difference when they do."

"I _really_ don't want to learn those, Kurama," Neville mumbled.

"They're really useful," Kurama started, watching Neville wince, "but I got them for comparison purposes only." And if they happened to be excellent weapons, well, Neville didn't have to ever know that. "After all, the professors would probably put me in detention for the next ten years if I went sowing man-eating plants all over the grounds!" That didn't get a more positive reaction out of Neville, who gave him a reproachful look. Kurama tilted his head, confused. "What?"

"You don't care?"

"About what?"

Neville stared at him for a long moment. "… nevermind. I probably can't explain it."

Kurama got the slightly unpleasant feeling that he was missing something obvious.

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TBC

A/N's -

- Suzuki, potionmaker, inventor, actor, director, etc.: he created and brews Potion of Past Life, invented the items used by his teammates in the Dark Tournament, directed at least one in the roles of various Japanese fairytale characters, and played the part of an old man for most of his team's appearance in the show.


	8. Evasions

Warnings, disclaimers, and so forth.

A/N's -

- I've opted to not include the fields of Legilimancy and Occlumancy in this series, as I built the plot prior to the release of Order of the Phoenix, where those spells were revealed. I need people to be able to lie.

- sorry about the delay, but I got a job! I GOT A JOB! (and I hate summer chapters. my god, what was I thinking?)

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CHAPTER STARTS

Ch. 8 - Evasions

It had been a relatively quiet week since Obon, leaving Draco free to consider Shizuru's odd question. 'Why' what? It wasn't 'why were the Kuwabara siblings magical', since that was obvious; they just _were_. But it also wasn't 'why didn't you tell me'. Shizuru had pretty much answered that in the same breath with which she'd told Draco she wasn't a Muggle: the sheer amusement factor.

After Chuu had staggered into the house the other day drunk beyond belief, thrown a lump of scaly flesh (which was leaking gray matter) onto the foyer shelf, and proceeded to vomit noisily all over the floor, Draco had asked something to the extent of "why the bloody hell do they DO this?". Shizuru had informed him it was the wrong 'why' yet again, and gone to fetch the cleaning supplies. He still didn't know if he'd meant 'why do they come' or 'why do they bring such horrible things', or both, but neither question had been answered.

Then, on Saturday, Draco had more important things to worry about.

It was late in the afternoon, and Draco was hungry, having lost his appetite for lunch after seeing the scale-side-up filet of fish on his plate. But Shizuru kept a bowl of fruit in the kitchen, so he grabbed an apple and wandered out towards the living room. He'd taken only two steps out of the kitchen before Shizuru plucked the apple from his hand.

Draco swallowed his bite quickly. "Hey! I was eating that!"

Shizuru gave him a flat look, gesturing pointedly to the phone against her ear. "Excuse me a second," she told the person on the other end of the line, before turning back to Draco. "Go pack."

"What?"

"There's a duffel bag in the storage box under the bed. Anything you've used here... clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, shoes... pack it. Now. And be ready to leave at a moment's notice."

What was a duffel bag? "But... what? Why?"

Shizuru turned him around and began pushing him towards the guest bedroom. "Figures that _now_ you'd start asking questions." Her tone changed as she returned to the phone. "I'm afraid I have to go, Keiko-chan. Thank you for the heads-up." The phone beeped as she hung up.

"Shizuru... what's going on?" Draco asked again, completely bewildered as she pushed him into the tiny room. She stepped around him, digging a box out from under the bed and pulling out a shapeless blue bag with one hand, and dialing another number with the other. "Shizuru!"

"Things are happening a bit sooner than expected," she answered cryptically, tossing the bag at him. "Pack."

"But..."

"_Pack."_

Draco grudgingly began pulling items from the nearest drawer.

Shizuru took in a breath; the other party had picked up the line. "Hello, Botan-san? Shizuru. They're looking early. ... How should I know? Keiko-chan met her. ... Foreign witch, British, talked about nothing but Malfoy's disappearance. ... I am _not_ being paranoid. I listened to Keiko. Not even Hiei's ever unnerved her like that. ... I don't know why, and I don't care. This isn't the time to come up with wild theories about Keiko-chan. ... I'm glad we have that straightened out. Is your schedule open? ... All right. I'll explain it. Don't forget she might not be working alone. ... Right. See you in a bit."

She hung up, and Draco blurted, "Now will you tell me what's going on?"

Shizuru gave him a flat look. "Tell me, is your father the type to wait for the officials, or hire a freelancer?"

"Freelancer," Draco automatically answered, mentally adding, _and only the best_. But... wait, Draco's own disappearance, plus official Aurors, plus Lucius' tendency to hire others instead of wait patiently... equaled... "A private detective?"

"In Japan, looking for you," Shizuru confirmed. "Or at least, somebody skillfully questioning certain highly suspicious transfer students and their associates, who happen to live conveniently far away from the UK."

Oh... bloody... Draco began packing faster. "How long until she gets _here_?"

"I don't know," Shizuru answered. "But we've got a bit of leeway. Keiko claimed to have no idea where I or the Minaminos live... which is half-true... and gave the woman directions to the Urameshis'. If she goes there, Atsuko's probably still under the weather."

Right, Draco thought sardonically. Under the weather in the same way as Chuu. Who was sleeping off his partying in the last bedroom, heavy curtains pulled despite the summer heat, wasting the air conditioning and throwing empty bottles at anyone who dared open the door.

Shizuru turned away, flicking the phone back on. "I'm going to call Kurama. It's early enough in England that he might be reachable."

Draco blinked. "He's in England?" He'd abandoned Draco to this nation of lunatics and Muggles and weird food? But... "But _why?_" And since when?

"Wrong why," Shizuru muttered. "And I didn't ask."

"After all that preaching about asking questions, you didn't?"

To his credit, Shizuru actually had to pause to consider this point... though for a second, Draco thought the call had been picked up and she was about to interrupt their conversation again. But after a long moment, she said, "Because there aren't that many reasons he would leave. And none of them have any bearing on me."

Not that many reasons, hm? Draco started on the nightstand drawer. "And what would those reasons be?"

No answer, except for Shizuru hissing a curse and redialing.

"Shizuru?"

The girl frowned at the phone. "I'm not getting through. This number should work cross-dimensionally, why am I not getting through?"

"Well," Draco drawled, "if you knew where he was going in England, then _maybe_ you'd have an answer."

Shizuru glared. "Congratulations. You've earned the right to learn to cook for yourself. And you've lost the privilege of using dishes until the threat's passed. Be ready for a week of instant ramen, buster."

"Wait, what?" Draco yelped. Shizuru turned on her heel and stormed out. "You can't do that!" Draco yelled after her.

"Try me!" she called back, unyielding.

Draco threw a shirt into the horrid bag with somewhat more force than necessary.

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This village on the north coast of Scotland, despite the late-August date, was rainy and cool today, gusts of wind pulling at the inhabitants' slickers and umbrellas. Despite this, the sidewalks weren't notably more empty than any other town Hiei had passed through over the summer.

Hiei didn't particularly care one way or the other about the climate, but the bakeries were nice. Very nice, though he would be glad to get back to Hogwarts where the elves served normal food. Bread was just _weird._

He paid for his lunch (and dinner), considering his situation as the lady counted out his change. He hadn't honestly expected to find much going on over the summer, considering that he was one person with two months' time in a foreign land. Compared to the entire native wizarding population, and their full-time law enforcement department... they may have had more to deal with, but they had more information and people to notice problems in the first place.

And yet, all he'd found was puddles of dark magic in one spot. It was appallingly little to work with. Surely Voldemort would've had a second plan ready to start up if his first was thwarted? Or a secondary one in the works, given that his primary plan had taken a full year to put in place?

Not that the man had shown signs of such behavior in the past. The tantei had been given a brief... very brief... outline of Harry's previous school years. The first, Voldemort had spent at least ten months obsessing over some stone of immortality, without putting any real effort into killing his enemies. The next two, he'd been out of the picture. The fourth, he'd wasted the year on the charade of the Triwizard Tournament when any random kidnapped wizard would've worked.

Leaving the bakery, Hiei curled instinctively over his bag to protect it from the rain and headed down the street at a very human-like jog, aiming for a wide awning near the park. Once there, he opened the sack and pulled out the topmost sandwich, unwrapping it one-handed. Gods, he missed rice...

Yuki poked her head out of Hiei's pocket, slipping lightly out and onto the wet pavement. A foot landed in a puddle, and she flicked the water off disdainfully before darting across the street.

Hiei stuffed the roll back into the sack. Not _again!_

But he'd taken barely two steps before he realized that the cat hadn't gone haring off after a male. No... she'd all but leapt into the arms of a nearby, umbrella-wielding pedestrian, mewling happily and rubbing against the woman's shoulder like a puppy. Hiei blinked, suddenly recognizing the woman, despite her Muggle dress and raincoat.

"Professor," he greeted.

Professor McGonagall skritched Yuki bemusedly, eyes meeting Hiei's. "Jaganshi. I thought I recognized this cat."

"She recognized you."

"That would've been the first clue, yes." She seemed at much at a loss for words as Hiei himself was. Wary in a way that Hiei somehow knew went deeper than surprise at the encounter. "You're far from home."

"Backpacking."

McGonagall glanced pointedly at the empty space where Hiei would've worn a backpack, had he actually been doing that. "I see. It's a bit off the usual routes here, isn't it?"

Hiei shrugged.

They stared at each other for another moment, before McGonagall visibly came to a decision. "I was just going to have tea. Care to join me?"

With her holding Hiei's cat hostage... not that it seemed to think so, the traitorous, purring beast... and using that tone, it wasn't really a question. Hiei fell into step next to his Head of House, and she moved her umbrella to shelter them both.

The cafe she selected was tucked away in a long, low building off the main street, and looked out over a garden by the river. Murmuring a charm to hide the cat as they entered, McGonagall picked a table away from the windows. Hiei accepted the cashier's offer of a dishtowel to help dry his hair, and carried the tea to the table.

It wasn't until after McGonagall had allowed Hiei to eat half his sandwich, that she set her cup aside.

"Jaganshi..."

Hiei flicked a glance at the professor.

"How has your summer been?"

That was not the expected question. But... manners. Right. "Long," Hiei answered simply.

"Longer than many," McGonagall agreed. "Though I somehow doubt yours was for the same reasons as mine." Hiei raised an eyebrow and waited. She sighed. "It's not easy, being a teacher. I do my best to be fair and impartial, though I may have my favorites; I am only human." This made little sense to Hiei, but he made a soft sound to acknowledge the words. "Be that as it may," the professor continued, "we invest seven years of our lives in every student. It's simply not possible... except perhaps for Severus... to be unconcerned when one simply up and disappears."

That was smooth. Not. "Draco Malfoy," Hiei murmured.

She didn't waste the breath to agree. "You've kept informed."

"Yukina sends me letters."

"I remember the last time a student was kidnapped... I do wish I could say I didn't... but I also remember Albus' reaction." A pause. "It's not the same this time. Not as concerned. It's as if the boy..." She trailed off.

"Ran away?" Hiei supplied. No answer. Hiei sat back, considering this. "I couldn't imagine why he would do so." Mostly because he didn't need to. He knew damn well why. If McGonagall wanted to pretend to be discreet, though...

McGonagall seemed to deflate, almost imperceptably. "No. It doesn't seem to make much sense."

"Unless he'd upset somebody his father had no sway over."

"You-Know-" She cut herself off, switching sentences smoothly. "He'd need help."

"Would he."

McGonagall offered him a pointed look, and Hiei reconsidered that statement. A wizardborn teenager, disdainful of Muggle things, disappearing with no more than the wizarding change in his pocket and the clothes on his back...

"Point taken," Hiei said flatly.

"I can't imagine who might've helped him," McGonagall went on. "The Aurors are getting nowhere in their investigation. They've asked almost every student at Hogwarts, most of the staff, had Charms and Transfiguration experts examining every inch of the train..."

Hiei toyed with the mug his tea was in, watching the liquid swirl. "They haven't asked me."

"You travel quickly. And you're low on their list."

He hadn't been on the train; his only relative was staying in a rented apartment in Hogsmeade with Genkai. And he wasn't even in Slytherin. "And you?"

"I think," McGonagall murmured, "that you still can't outrun a train."

Hiei smirked in agreement.

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The knock came on Sunday, as Draco, Shizuru, Botan, and Rinku were finishing their lunch. (Draco and Botan were stuck with rice balls and bottled juice, to prevent them from leaving telltale dishes lying around.)

"I'll get it!" Rinku shouted, playing the part of a human kid as best he could.

"Rinku!" Shizuru shoved away from the table, covering up the sounds of Botan and Draco slipping from their chairs. "Check who it is first!"

"Yeah, yeah!"

As the little demon boy stomped into his sneakers in the foyer, Botan pulled Draco to the darkened guest bedroom, where they hid behind the half-opened door to listen. They couldn't hear the visitor or Shizuru very well, but they could hear Rinku easily. The boy knew exactly the volume of an excitable child.

"Wow, you're a foreigner! OW! Shizuru-san, what was that for?" Shizuru said something inaudible, and Rinku replied, "But she IS! Hey, hey, lady!" And Rinku switched languages for a sentence, speaking slowly. "I supeaku Engurish! Did I say that right? Did I?" More murmuring, this with a tone of put-upon approval. Then Shizuru spoke, and Rinku responded. "But I'm done with lunch! I wanna watch TV!"

That was their signal; it was the detective. Botan summoned her oar and hopped on. Draco slid in behind her, catching at her waist, and they kicked off, flying through the wall and out into the sky.

Draco winced at the sudden sunshine. "Won't somebody see us?" he asked. Last time it hadn't been a factor; they'd gone almost straight up from the train and vanished into the cloud cover over Scotland.

"Only ghosts!" Botan responded cheerfully. "I don't have to be visible with my oar. You okay back there?"

"I'm a Seeker, what do you think?"

"Just checking!"

They flew northwards for a long while, sometimes through the wispy clouds, more often not. The ugly apartment blocks below gave way to prettier, tile-roofed ones, interspersed with patches of high-fenced little houses.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked, as the mountains ahead grew on the horizon.

Botan grinned at him over her shoulder. "Ah, I know this little hotel that isn't computerized yet..."

Wasn't what?

"... and is very affordable. I should have enough yen on me to rent a room for the week."

Draco hadn't just seen her wink, had he? No. "... You're taking me to a hotel," he echoed flatly.

"Yup." Definitely a wink. Oh Merlin.

"And you don't see a problem with this."

"You're going to be a perfect gentleman," Botan informed him. "Nobody likes having a well-seasoned wooden oar broken over their skull."

The scary part was that she was still beaming like, well, a _Hufflepuff_.

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Business at the twins' was booming, both figuratively and literally. As they entered the shop through a wreath of gold smoke, Padfoot skittered away from Harry to allow a little boy with a brightly sizzling sparkler out the door.

"Oi! Pets need to be leash-- oh, Harry." Fred-or-George spun off a ladder, several boxes under one arm, and grinned. "Nevermind that." Fred, Harry guessed, slung a friendly arm around his shoulders and drew him further into the packed shop. "Come in, come in, have a free sample or ten... though I daresay your dog's more likely to take us up on that offer than you. Hope you have a good vet if he goes for the chocolate. Wicked crowd, eh?"

Something exploded in Harry's face, several four-year-olds shrieking with delight and stampeding past Harry into another aisle. "Yeah," Harry said. "Wicked."

Fred guided Harry to a relatively quiet spot near the back of the store, next to a bin of innocuous-looking biscuits. "Now, then. What brings our favorite silent partner by, hm?" The redhead snagged one of the biscuits and tossed it to Padfoot. "Here, on the house, boy."

"_Fred!"_ Harry yelped, as Padfoot caught the treat in mid-air and happily crunched it down.

"I'm George!"

Harry gave him a dubious look. He'd heard that before; in fact, it was one of the first things he'd heard the twins say.

"Okay, so I'm Fred," the twin admitted. Then he gave Harry an oddly secretive grin. "Though I could be George if you'd like."

"No thanks. What did you give Lupin's dog?"

Fred drew himself up proudly. "Our latest creation: Weasleys' Game Face Biscuits!" Padfoot sneezed, then sprouted green feathers. A gold crest popped up from his crown to the nape of his neck. His back paws dropped their fur and turned suspisciously bird-like. Fred added, "For pets. That one was Holyhead Harpies."

Padfoot blinked, bewildered, before noticing his new look. After a moment of sniffing suspisciously at his feathery forelegs, he whuffed in smug approval.

Harry lay a hand on Padfoot's brightly-feathered head, bending to face him. "'Harpies'?" he asked Fred carefully. "That doesn't... I mean... they only hire witches, right?" Padfoot's eyes flew wide in horror.

Fred burst out laughing. "Didn't affect that, I promise!" he sputtered. "Wouldn't make anything we wouldn't laugh about getting hit with ourselves, never do, and we're rather attached to our anatomy."

Harry took him at his word, but Padfoot peered nervously at himself before slumping to the floor, tongue lolling in relief.

"But back to business," Fred said, politely ignoring the dog. "What can we help you with, Harry?"

"Well, we were wondering if you maybe had anything low-key and harmless. It's for Remus... Professor Lupin."

Fred's eyes lit up in understanding. "That's right, it's the full tomorrow, isn't it." Harry nodded. "We'll fix you right up. Plenty suitable to cheer up an ailing werewolf. In fact, we invented a few things that summer after he was outed. Right this way, I think George put them by the trick wands."

Harry nudged Padfoot back to his feet and followed Fred back into the crowd, keeping a wary eye out for attacking merchandise. One prank a day was plenty, thanks.

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Had it not been for the fact that Kurama had left most of his belongings in Japan, he would've simply stayed the few remaining days of August. As it was, though, Neville should be fine for four days, and Kurama had things that couldn't be packed safely by anybody except himself. Some of the Reikai seeds in particular would react badly if mishandled.

So it was that he found himself back on a plane Wednesday evening, trying (unsuccessfully) to ignore both the spectacularly awful in-flight movie and a snoring seatmate. The in-flight magazines were limited to a catalog and the safety card, as someone had spilled a drink on the airline publication, and though Kurama had bought several Muggle magazines and the best newspaper available in Heathrow, he'd finished all of them.

The articles hadn't been helpful in the least. The Muggle world seemed to be going on as usual; police investigations, political deadlocks, new medicines. Nothing seemed to be amiss. Even the Prophet, which he'd read at Neville's, was having to scrape up news from nothing.

It didn't make much sense. Kurama sat back in his seat, staring out the tiny window at the full moon. Surely... there had to be something, didn't there? Unless he was focusing too much on the big picture. Unless...

Kurama's gaze fell to the row before him, to the headrest of the center seat. A phone had been installed there. Maybe... Shizuru hadn't called, but maybe... he'd been very close to the Longbottom house the whole time. Hadn't he read something about electronic devices not working around magic? Not that it made sense, but...

He lifted the headset and swiped his card.

"Hello, Shizuru? It's Kurama."

"_Where have you been?_" Shizuru all but shouted at him. Kurama could almost picture her gesticulating at the phone, as if she could reach through it and smack him. "We've been trying to reach you for four days!"

Days? "What's happened?" Kurama asked. It could be almost anything: demon attack, car accident, food poisoning... there'd been an outbreak of earlier in the month in Sentai, he'd read...

"Things went quicker than expected on their side." Meaning that somebody was starting to look too closely at Japan for Draco. Not that it particularly mattered who.

"Oh." That was almost a relief, and Kurama allowed himself to indulge in that for a split second before focusing on the matter at hand. Four days ago, so... by now, whoever it was would've easily checked the relatives of all the Tantei. They better not have upset his mother. "Where's Draco, then?"

"I don't know," Shizuru answered. "Botan took him."

Botan. Good. He could be anywhere on the planet, or even in the Reikai. "Did she take her cell phone?"

"Always," Shizuru answered. "You want me to make this a three-way?"

"Yes."

"Hold on." After a moment, in which Kurama considered his plans and discarded the elements that had relied on later timing (just his luck that Malfoy would hire a wizard who was good at logic), the phone line clicked. Shizuru's voice returned, fainter. "Kurama-san?"

"I'm here," he answered.

Botan, also faint and crackling with static, piped up, "Oh good! I've never tried one of those plane phones. Is it working well?"

"Yes. Can you put Draco on? This call's very expensive."

A few seconds passed with soft scuffling on the other end of the line, then Draco tensely asked, "Kurama?"

"Yes. You're okay?"

"No, I am not 'okay'!" Draco blurted. Kurama blinked, gaze flicking towards the handset as if he could see Draco through it. The boy continued, "You promised to help me! You left me trapped with Muggles and crazy witches and _demons_ and now I have _no_ idea where I am except that there's nothing to do but try to boil myself and drink nasty cold tea! You call this 'help'?"

"Draco-san..." Kurama began. It sounded like this had been pent up for a while. (And like Draco was at an onsen, he noted absently.)

The boy ignored him. "And it's all going to be for _nothing_, because somebody on their side is sane and went looking at the most suspiscious students of the whole lot! Which would be _you_, in case you hadn't noticed..."

"Draco, do shut up," Kurama snapped. A shocked silence echoed on the other end of the line. "This isn't unexpected. It's a week earlier than we thought, but we have options."

More silence. Then, "... options?" Draco asked, almost pleadingly.

"You'll even get to choose," Kurama told him magnanimously. "Not that you have to answer yet, but here's what we can do..."

The flight would land in fifteen hours. He'd give Draco twenty-four to decide.

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TBC

A/N's -

- I placed Hiei in Helmsdale, Scotland, on the east coast of the Highlands. Except I'm completely b.s.ing some details, since I found it on a website and haven't actually been there.

- No, I don't think Hiei could outrun the Express. Not all the way to London, and the Aurors would've established that Draco was still on the train that far. (Though it was a doppelganger, but they don't know that.)

- the earliest on-plane phones were in the early 90's, as my father recalls. I myself remember seeing them on a trans-Atlantic flight in either 1995 or 1997, so having Kurama use one in 1996 should be accurate.

- three-way calling, on the other hand, has definitely been around since the 1980's, because the only time I ever participated in one was then.


	9. Making Tracks

Warnings, disclaimers, Ch. 1.

A/N's -

- huh. This turned out a lot shorter than I expected. But I'm evilly pushing the last scene to the next chapter.

- roundabout: larger British roads meet in circles that allow traffic to merge and continue flowing, rather than at intersections that require the traffic to stop. It's an effective system, but you can get a bit dizzy if you're not used to them. Or at least, I certainly do.

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CHAPTER BEGINS

Ch. 9 - Making Tracks

Kurama spent his three days at home in Tokyo packing. There was the new trunk to pick up, his Makai and Reikai seeds to sort and file away in the drawer compartments, and all his school supplies to transfer from his old trunk, checking for damage and polishing the items that needed it. He had to list the items he was low on, mostly writing and potions supplies, and add them to his booklist for a rush trip to Diagon Alley. On top of all this, he and Shiori had to unpack an entire year's worth of clothing and school uniforms, replace the items that didn't fit anymore, and air out the rest in the hot August sun... a chore which consumed most of the time, particularly the shopping.

And he _still_ had yet to coordinate with Draco, Keiko, and Botan. Not one of them could lie point-blank to Kurama's face. That was bad. Draco's decision depended on the ability... but Kurama himself was excellent, Botan just needed to be able to mix 'concern' and 'cluelessness' a bit better, Keiko had half-truths down almost unnervingly well, and Draco...

Well. He was far better than either girl, but he was going to be under heavy scrutiny from all sides. Hopefully the pressure of his own survival would enhance the Slytherin skills underlying all that arrogance.

So it was on Saturday that Kurama and Keiko hopped a train to downtown Tokyo, losing their tail in the packed cars before switching to the line to Sendai, where they'd meet with Draco and Botan and head to England. The ride would be several hours long; Sendai was hundreds of kilometers north of Tokyo. So Keiko pulled out a deck of cards, and they whiled away the trip playing poker for candy.

Somewhere in the mountains north of Utsunomiya, they bought bento off the food cart, and set their game aside while they ate.

As Kurama was finishing the last of his drink, Keiko spoke. "Kurama-san?"

"Hm?"  
"No offense, but... you do realize this is a singularly reckless plan?"

Kurama didn't need to ask what she was talking about. "I did promise Draco the choice," he reminded her. In retrospect, that had probably been a supremely stupid idea. "And he said it's better than being abandoned to a horde of lunatics, Muggles, and demons, just so he can get caught without any of us there to go down with him."

Keiko blinked. "That's... very blunt of him," she hedged.

Downright rude, Kurama understood. "I think Shizuru rubbed off on him a bit."

"Ah," Keiko murmured in response, and the conversation lapsed for the remainder of the trip.

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Jetlag had left Draco wide-awake by four Sunday morning, when he and Botan snuck out of the Muggle hotel in London. He carried a paper bag with his Hogwarts uniform; she had a lumpy purple backpack, and they arrowed away on her oar in silence. The night seemed to demand it from them. They didn't speak until the sky grew light and the first sliver of sun appeared in the east, and even then it was just Draco complaining about dew. Botan dug a handtowel from her backpack and all but let it fly into his face.

As Draco sputtered and yanked at the handtowel, fuming, Botan pulled a letter from another pocket of the backpack. Draco got a glimpse of a diagram or map, the thin lines of a Muggle pen almost invisible against the flimsy striped paper, and a glossy color photograph taped under it.

The oar slowed, Botan checking the ground against the fluttering sheet of paper as they followed a road. They passed over a roundabout, then another, and turned onto a narrow road that soon petered out. Botan kept flying, though, over a steep hill and then diving eastwards.

Trees flashed past them, leaves blinding Draco, then the oar came to a halt.

Draco blinked. They were in... what looked to have once been a house or cottage. If one was inclined to be generous in their descriptions. Draco himself was inclined to call it a hut, at best, and only if he was in a good mood. Which he was increasingly not, as he looked around the small space.

The roof looked as though it was about to cave in, pockmarked with holes just large enough for sunshine and squirrels to get through. The walls were covered in ivy and less identifiable vines, so densely packed that Draco couldn't quite figure out where the windows might be. The only door was blocked by a tree. Scattered over the grassy floor were a few worn blocks of stone, some outlining an unmistakable hearth, others simply sitting near walls at random.

"You don't seriously expect me to stay here?" Draco asked.

Botan shrugged. "No place else." She sounded entirely too happy about that.

Draco sucked in a breath, but rather than let him start complaining, Botan tipped him off the oar. He yelped in pain, landing hard on his side... okay, so he played Quidditch and was used to being knocked around, but this was _different_! This was an _insult_!

"No time to argue about it, Malfoy," she informed him, dropping the backpack next to him. "I'll see you in about twelve hours... enjoy the books!"

Books? What books? Draco pushed himself to a sitting position in time to see her vanish through the wall.

Draco swore and kicked the backpack.

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When Botan returned to the hotel sometime after dawn, the three Tantei had a quick breakfast and headed for Diagon Alley. The Leaky Cauldron, fortunately, was open when they arrived, allowing them to get to the magical shopping center... much to the dismay of the shopkeepers, most of whom were bleary-eyed and nursing coffee when the three reached the stores.

After messily stuffing their purchases in their trunks (a move that Kurama knew he'd regret later), they had just enough time to make it to King's Cross and catch the Hogwarts Express.

The train whistle blew while Kurama was yanking Keiko's trunk up onto the train proper. A minute later, it lurched into motion, knocking the three of them against the connecting door to the next car.

As they untangled themselves, someone gave a tiny cough that might've been a snicker.

"Running late?"

Kurama glanced up to find Hiei staring at them, arms crossed, the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. "Nice to see you too," he said. "I had a lovely summer, thank you for asking, and it's so kind of you to offer to help move all this stuff. Where did you say our compartment was?"

Hiei gave him a flat look, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "This way."

Kurama blinked; he hadn't expected Hiei to go along with the teasing. Though it was more likely that he was ignoring it.

Keiko peered past Kurama. "You're really helping?" she asked hopefully.

"... no," Hiei said, after a moment. "Cast the spell yourself."

"Oh yeah, spells!" Botan cheered. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" The trunks all but leapt into the air, narrowly missing Keiko's chin.

"Um, Botan..."

"I've got it, Keiko." Botan gleefully aimed the trunks down the corridor and headed after them. Keiko followed.

Hiei's eyes automatically tracked the girls and their trunks as they passed him, then flicked back to Kurama. Kurama held Hiei's gaze, considering the smaller demon carefully. Hiei held out for about a minute before his eyes narrowed. "What?" he asked suspisciously.

Kurama took that as permission to lean up, catching Hiei by the chin to get a closer look. Not allowing Hiei to squirm away, he tilted Hiei's face to catch the light. There, yes, he'd seen it right. The color was shifting back to red. "When was the last time you applied the charm?"

Hiei blinked. "Three weeks. When I passed by Hogsmeade."

"It's fading," Kurama told him, standing and grabbing his trunk. "I'll fix it for you after we get to the compartment."

"I can do it myself."

"But I want to."

Botan's voice interrupted the budding argument. "What's taking you two so long?" she called from down the corridor. "And Hiei, how far down's this compartment?"

"All the way in the back," Hiei replied, not taking his eyes away from Kurama's.

Which, Kurama thought, would make it easier when Botan flew off near the end of the trip. "Let me?" he asked quietly.

Hiei held his gaze a few seconds more, then turned away with a snort. "Do as you like."

Kurama grinned, almost smug. "Thank you. I will."

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As the day began winding down to a close, and the train passed into Scotland, an oar carrying two people pulled up next to it.

Botan stuck her head through the side of the train, pulling it back out quickly. "There's someone in there," she murmured, leaning back so Draco could hear.

"So pick a different car," Draco responded, voice cracking.

"I can't. This is the loo you disappeared from. It'll help your story."

Draco's stomach gave an odd lurch. "I've changed my mind. I'll just go hide in a hole in Japan, okay?"

"It's entirely too late for that." She peeked into the train again, swooping in through the wall and locking the door even as she said, "We're clear!" Draco slid from the broom, going to his knees with a whimper. Botan ignored this, pulling a comb from her pocket and running it roughly through his windblown hair.

"Hey! Ow!"

"Soon as I leave, wash your hands... hm, and your face, you look awful."

Draco bristled.

Botan eyed him, frowning. "Well? Is there anything you'd like to say to me now?"

"I am SO glad I won't have to put up with you over hols," he said, as if it were the start of summer.

"That's the spirit! Good luck!" And she rematerialized her oar and flew out.

Draco slowly turned to face himself in the mirror. "You... seriously need to pull yourself together, Malfoy." He really did look a wreck. Taking a shuddering breath, he splashed cool water on his face, then washed his hands as requested, regaining his composure. With one last glance in the mirror, he whispered, "Showtime."

The corridor outside was, thankfully, empty. But as Draco walked briskly down towards the front of the train, he heard doors behind him rumble open, one after another. He pretended he didn't hear the faint gasps and stunned murmurings starting in his wake... or that if he did, he wasn't realizing that the growing noise was about himself.

Then he casually opened the door to the compartment he'd been in on the way home last July, and stepped inside to be faced with stricken staring.

"What's with you?" he asked. Pansy squeaked, a tiny, whimpering sound, and Draco frowned. "Is there something on my face?"

Goyle, oddly enough, was the first to recover. "You're alive," he said, his face even more vapid than usual.

"Of course I'm alive," Draco snapped. "Why wouldn't I be?"

This triggered Pansy out of her shock, and she threw herself into Draco's arms. "You're ALIVE!" she shrieked, sobbing. "Oh Merlin, you're alive, you're okay, you're... you..." She pulled back and shook him, hands clutching almost painfully at his biceps as she yelled, "_Where have you been?_"

Draco stared down at her with his best 'what the bloody hell is going on?' expression. "The loo?"

"The whole _summer?_"

"Excuse me?"

Crabbe set a tentative hand on Draco's shoulder. "You've been gone. All summer." At Draco's glare, he quickly pulled his hand away. "We thought you were dead. Or something."

Draco pretended to consider this for a couple of seconds. Then, "Okay, very funny, guys. Ha ha. What brilliant mastermind," he emphasized 'brilliant' sarcastically, "put you up to this? Because it's really a very stupid joke."

Pansy slapped him. "It's not a joke!" she cried. "I wouldn't stoop to this," she waved a hand furiously at her red-rimmed eyes, before snatching a handkerchief from her pocket, "for some stupid _joke_!" She blotted the tears from her face, shaking. "The whole summer! Two months, Draco Malfoy! Two months the Aurors have been looking for you!"

Draco let himself fall into the nearest seat. "Not that I don't believe you, but..." he would never just accept such a wild story, no matter how hysterical Pansy was getting, "That is completely, barking mad."

"Do not make me hit you again, you stupid, stupid..." Pansy cast about for a suitable insult, "... _boy_!"

"Could you try taking it as a heartfelt compliment of your impeccable acting skills?" Draco asked plaintively. "Because I really would believe you if I weren't, well, me."

Pansy screeched in wordless exasperation.

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Word of Malfoy's reappearance spread through the train quickly, falling on Harry's compartment with all the impact of a physical blow.

The 'physical' part, of course, being Ron's outburst when he almost hit the roof, setting Pigwidgeon to flutter frantically around the ceiling of the compartment. (It also sent the little Ravenclaw girl who'd been spreading the information stumbling back into the corridor, wide-eyed and pale.)

"The _nerve_ of that arrogant, bloody little ferret of a...!"

"_Ron!"_

Harry sighed. Another argument. You'd think he'd be used to it by now, but in reality...

"I bet you he ran away and has been cowering someplace. I hope it was dark and nasty."

"And _why_ would he run away?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Then he snuck off and was learning Dark Arts!"

... in reality, Harry just understood by now to stay out of it. Especially when Ron was up on his high horse about Malfoy. And he could hardly contribute, not without spilling that he knew...

Ron continued, "Think the Aurors will catch that?"

... far more than either of them about what happened. Namely, that it had been Kurama's doing. And that he'd kept that from them the whole summer.

"Hey, maybe they'll cart him off to Azkaban! It would be about time."

"Ron, that's horrible!"

"It's Malfoy!"

Not that he'd known what else to do. Malfoy wasn't supposed to come back. He just... wasn't. And if Kurama had returned (of which Harry wasn't sure; he'd only spotted Yuusuke, Kuwabara, and Hiei before the train left London), then Harry would warn Ron and Hermione and that would be that.

"So what? Are you _trying_ to leap to the top of the suspect list?" Hermione snapped.

Ron and Harry blinked in unison, Harry booted out of his thoughts.

"Huh?" Ron asked.

Hermione mimed bonking Ron over the head. "Honestly, Ron. At this point, he's going to be considered the victim of a crime. And since the probability of someone sneaking onto a moving train with as many protections as the Hogwarts Express is so low as to be inconcievable... well..." Harry's mind flashed straight back to Kurama, just before Hermione finished with, "... one of us is logically the culprit."

"I didn't do it!" Ron yelled.

"I didn't say you did!" Hermione yelled back. "The most plausible way to have gotten Malfoy off the train is to Transfigure him, and you'd have to be a NEWT-level student or a Transfiguration genius at the least..." she trailed off, wonderingly. "... which means I'm probably one of the top suspects. Oh my."

"That's ridiculous!" Harry blurted, his protest nearly drowned in Ron's shout.

"You didn't do it either!" Ron paused. "... did you?"

"_No!_"

"... right. You wouldn't waste your time on that git."

Hermione glared. "I wouldn't waste my time perpetrating a crime, Ronald Weasley."

Ron flinched. "Er, right. That too."

Hermione didn't look mollified.

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The journey up to the castle was made in carriages, pulled by skeletal horses that Hiei thought were more likely to take a bite out of the students than not, and was punctuated by the crush of frenzied students spreading rumors that got wilder with every retelling.

By the time the crowd surged into the entrance hall, a convincingly bewildered and dismayed Draco at the forefront, the stories near the back of the horde had lost almost all logic. Such as one where the blond Apparated directly onto the train (somehow in front of a crowd of at least twenty, nevermind that no spot on the train could be seen by twenty people at once). Or at least three versions where he'd spent the summer as an extra bolt on the plumbing (or a similar object). Again, this ignored the fact that Transfiguration experts had checked every square inch of the train.

The crowd jostled and slowed at the doors to the Great Hall. Kuwabara, who was tall enough to actually see what was happening, peered over the heads of the mass of students before them. "McGonagall's taking Malfoy away," he informed the younger, shorter people around him.

Hiei tensed almost imperceptibly, feeling Kurama next to him doing the same. This was it. The rest was up to Draco now.

It somehow wasn't a pleasant thought.

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TBC

A/N's -

- I checked, and there is indeed a food cart on Japanese trains. At least, on those operated by the company that runs 70 of the trains.

- Hiei found the place Draco was left in, and drew the map. Or maybe Yuusuke did, except I don't know if he's that good at giving directions.

- the backpack had the books. And food. Nobody's dumb enough to leave Draco hungry and bored if they're going to have to put up with him again.

- I feel sorry for poor Pansy. She was honestly worried the whole summer.


	10. Sorting Things Out

Warnings, disclaimers, Ch. 1.

A/N's -

- Wow, did I write myself into a corner here. Sorry about the long wait. I wonder if annoucing that new chapters will take six weeks will cut my writing time, like it did for BD? Let's try it. Expect Ch. 11 to come out near July.

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CHAPTER STARTS

Ch. 10 - Sorting Things Out

Draco was not surprised to be all but physically dragged to the Headmaster's office by a stern McGonagall. He wasn't surprised to be ushered in and have no less than three Aurors, the Headmaster, and Professor Snape staring at him as if he'd... well, miraculously reappeared after two months' disappearance. However...

"Oh, _Draco!" _Narcissa abandoned all aristocratic poise, clutching him to herself in a flutter of elegant robes and expensive perfume.

However, he was surprised to encounter _that_. "... _Mother_...!" Draco protested, squirming away after a shocked moment. He was sixteen, for Merlin's sake, and supposedly under the delusion he hadn't been missing at all. "Not in front of...!" He cut himself off, eyes flicking to the Aurors and professors. "And what are you doing here?"

A hand settled firmly on his shoulder, and Draco twisted to peer into the face of his father. He, at least, was being properly decorous about Draco's return. "You worried your mother, Draco," he said needlessly. "I do hope you have some explanation."

Draco let his expression crack, just a bit. "This... isn't a prank," he said, voice carefully controlled. "Is it. Sir."

Lucius shook his head solemnly.

Gently, Draco freed himself from his mother's arms, stepping slowly to the nearest chair and letting himself sink into it. "It's September," he murmured to himself, piling on the disbelief. "My summer... my whole summer..." Don't overplay the sympathy cards, cue the anger. Draco refocused on the little cluster of Aurors. A tall black man seemed to be in charge; Draco caught his eyes. "You are going to find whoever did this."

The man managed to not simper at him, unlike many Ministry workers when faced with an upset Malfoy. Draco was not impressed.

"Of course we will, Mr. Malfoy," he said. A nearly-imperceptible gesture, and the green-haired woman behind him pulled out a Quick-Quotes quill and a notebook. "But first, we'll need to ask you some questions."

Draco's hands clenched on the chair's arms. "I assure you," he hissed, "you will have my _full_ cooperation."

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Downstairs, the Great Hall was abuzz with the noise of several hundred hungry teenagers and their gossip. The hot topic remained Draco Malfoy's reappearance, with more evidence being collected as students observed the professor's table. Of all the school staff, only one Head of House remained at the table: Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff.

It took nearly five minutes for the Hall to fill up and for the students to seat themselves, but they fell silent quickly after Sprout tapped her glass with a spoon for attention. Under a sea of watchful eyes, the portly woman raised a hand, palm-up, as if gripping an invisible rope. She pulled, and the mass of faces turned as one to watch the doors to the Great Hall slowly open.

Professor Flitwick stepped through. Behind him, towering over him, a gaggle of wide-eyed children followed. The procession flowed raggedly down the long aisle between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, children stumbling a few times as they stared at the sky-charmed ceiling, the floating candles, and the mass of teenagers giving silent (if impatient) respect to the coming ceremony.

They halted at the edge of the professors' dais, staring nervously at Professor Sprout... or trying to. Sprout's gentle demeanor and poorly-hidden smile didn't lend themselves to intimidation, and a few of the bolder children found themselves smiling shyly back.

Flitwick hovered a stepstool out from behind the professors' table, setting it next to the stool with the Sorting Hat. He climbed up onto it, fussing a bit as he cast his gaze over the first-years, counting them. Then he nodded, and turned to face the Hat.

After a moment's pause, the Sorting Hat twitched. A flap of fabric near the base opened into a recognizeable mouth, and the Hat burst into song.

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The Auror introduced himself to Draco as Kingsley Shacklebolt, head of the investigation, and the green-haired woman as Tonks. Then he said, "Let's start with the events of June 30th. You woke up that morning..."

"I woke up about half an hour before breakfast..." Draco began, then proceeded to outline the day. He'd had a typical breakfast (he'd forced himself to eat normally that morning, act normal, be as above suspiscion as possible), then packed the remainder of his belongings and checked his luggage. He'd then made Crabbe strip his bed, while he checked the dorm and common room for Crabbe and Goyle's belongings (they always forgot at least one item each; this year it had been a pair of shoes and a shaving kit). Then the rush to the train, taking a compartment, and conversation about summer plans. A bathroom break before getting food off the trolley, and no he hadn't seen anyone or anything strange then. The usual long day's train ride; he'd commandeered a novel off some younger kid, but it had turned out to be boring. He'd watched Crabbe and Goyle play Exploding Snap. He'd played checkers for a while with Zabini. He'd gone to the loo again.

When he'd come out, the whole train had started some insane prank, with everybody trying to tell him it was September 1st. Which had been very convincing, ha ha, except for being an absolutely insane story. That state of affairs lasted until they'd reached Hogwarts, at which point Draco began to suspect that it wasn't a prank. Then McGonagall had pulled him right out of the crowd, brought him up to the Headmaster's office, and that was that.

The Auror nodded in spots throughout the tale, blandly asking Draco to backtrack several times through the story and repeat himself. If he suspected Draco was lying, he had a perfect poker face.

After reading through the statement, Shacklebolt had Draco sign it.

"Are you familiar with Pensieves?" he then asked.

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"So, why do you think Sprout's running the feast?" Harry asked, washing the words down with a swig of his pumpkin juice.

"That should be obvious, Harry." Hermione lifted her chin imperiously, one of her lecturing expressions on her face. "Lots of people sent owls to both Hogwarts and the Auror department from the train; there have probably been Aurors with the Headmaster for hours by now. Professor McGonagall took Malfoy, obviously to meet with them, and Snape's the Head of Slytherin. That's the Headmaster, Deputy Headmistress, and Malfoy's Head of House, which leaves only two Heads of House to handle the Sorting Feast."

"Well, _yeah_," Ron agreed, as Harry blinked. "Anybody could figure that out. But Harry's asking why _Sprout_ gave the speech." When this brought a blank look from Hermione, Ron clarified, "Doesn't Flitwick outrank her? He's a former duel champion." A pause. "And old and tenured and stuff."

Hermione put her head in her hands. "Sprout's been teaching longer," she mumbled against her fists.

"Oh," they chorused, properly cowed. For all of about two seconds.

As soon as Hermione was distracted, Ron leaned closer to grumble in Harry's ear, "Still don't see what that has got anything to do with it."

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It figured that Dumbledore had his own Pensieve. It also figured that he was delighted to offer its use to the interviewing Aurors.

Carefully, Draco touched his wand to his temple, and pulled a strand of silvery mist from his head. It was long and sticky-looking, like a scrap of cobweb, he thought as he dropped it into Dumbledore's bowl. And if he hadn't cut the memories just right...

But of course he must've. He _must've._ A person's memories were connected in a single, tangled stream that covered their entire lifespan. The only reason wizards didn't yank their entire minds out to use a Pensieve, or leave an Obliviated person a vegetable, was that they _could_ pick out only the parts they wanted to look at. (And both spells could be misused: just look at Professor Lockhart.) So if Draco cut at the point where he washed his hands on both days...

The head Auror peered into the bowl, bending until the tip of his nose touched.

... and if Pensieves only showed the events, not the emotions and knowledge of the person experiencing them, which Draco was almost certain they did, then it should work.

Shacklebolt pulled his head out of the bowl with a frown. "That's odd..." he murmured, mostly to himself. "Tonks, check this."

Tonks stuck her own head into the bowl, immersing her entire face. After a moment, she pulled it back out, strands clinging to locks of her short hair. "That _is_ odd," she murmured, poking at the silvery fluid with her wand. "I didn't see anything to cause this..." she added, as the liquid heaved upwards. It formed the image of Draco himself washing his hands at a sink, surrounded by a low wall hinting at a bathroom.

Draco carefully refused to bite his lip as the memory played out. Pensieve-Draco dried his hands, glanced up into the mirror... and the image snapped off, watery smoke collapsing back into the bowl with a splash.

_Oh shit_, Draco thought. That wasn't what he'd meant to do. He'd been trying to take out the memories from after Botan dropped him off, and splice them together with the start of summer to make a full, misleading single day.

Dumbledore nodded. "I see... how very mysterious."

"What is?" Narcissa asked tightly.

"What indeed..." Dumbledore mused.

Shacklebolt crouched, eyes on a level with the rim of the bowl. "Play it again, Tonks," he asked, "but a bit slower."

The Malfoys leaned in, watching the memory play out in slow motion.

The image of Draco finished drying its hands, gracefully turning to look up into the memory-mirror. Its eyes widened in a hint of... well, Draco knew it was fear, due to his impending disappearance, but it could be mistaken for surprise. Then the image collapsed into the bowl again.

"I don't see it," Draco said stubbornly. Except for not continuing on as he'd intended, there was nothing odd to see. The mirror, being a memory instead of an actual object, didn't show anything that Draco wouldn't have seen, even if there had been a culprit to sneak into the tiny compartment. The window... he'd cut this memory hours after Botan had whisked his real body away, so there would be nothing there. The door hadn't been ajar. So what could they be seeing...?

Shacklebolt was facing him again. "Mr. Malfoy, it appears that you've had some memory loss prior to the actual incident of your disappearance." Draco gaped at him, the relief robbing him of words. "Fortunately, the signs of concussion, or most potions with such effects, linger for a number of weeks. We'd like to call up the nurse."

"I... fine." _Thank Merlin._ "Just... fine."

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When a lone owl swooped silently down from the rafters above the professors' table, a note clasped firmly in sharp talons, Kurama took a large bite of roast and chewed thoughtfully. An outside observer would have claimed he didn't notice; but truthfully, all his attention was firmly on the little owl.

_So far, nobody's come breaking the door down to arrest us_, he thought,_ but that could be that they're smart enough to not put the kids in a potential crossfire. The sensible thing to do is a quiet note, and a discreet request to step outside._

The owl landed next to Sprout, offering the note to her.

Kurama noted the positions of the other Tantei in the Hall, and reconsidered his escape routes.

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"Veritaserum?" Lucius repeated dangerously. "Do you realize what you are implying?"

Draco echoed the sentiment. "I'm the victim here, not some... some common _criminal!_" If he took a truth serum, the whole story would come out.

Tonks raised her hands defensively. "It is a well-known tactic for aiding in memory retrieval."

"On suspects!" Narcissa protested.

Of course, if Draco took Veritaserum, he would also explain Lucius' loyalties in exacting detail. Even though Lucius would never allow that, the Aurors were all but drooling at the prospect.

"Veritasreum is also used in cases where time or tampering may have blurred the memories, if the victim consents and is over the age of twelve." Dumbledore paused. "And with parental consent up to age seventeen, not including cases of alleged abuse."

Lucius drew himself up imperiously. "You have your Pensieve. Draco's memory shows no signs of reversable tampering. He will _not_ be taking Veritaserum."

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As the plates magically cleared themselves of dessert, leaving only the last of the feast's beverages behind, Sprout stood once more and cleared her throat.

"I hope everyone is full and well-satisfied," she said. "Before letting you all go, we have some announcements.

"The Forbidden Forest is off-limits to all students who would like to remain alive and uninjured. It has been searched in vain for the youko from last year," (at this, Harry couldn't help but glance across the hall towards Kurama), "but there are many other denizens who are equally dangerous.

"Mr. Filch asks yet again that students refrain from keeping forbidden items. The list of contraband is posted on his office door. Students caught in possession of these items will be docked points and have it confiscated.

"Quidditch tryouts will be held in two weeks' time; your House teams will be posting the tryout times and positions available. First years are reminded that they are not allowed brooms, and are asked to enjoy the matches and try out next year.

"Professor Genkai has requested that all NEWT-level students, regardless of whether they are taking Defense or not, submit a report of any length about their health and Defense studies over the summer." A chorus of groans rose from the upperclassmen. "This report is due by Saturday.

"And lastly, the Aurors in charge of the Malfoy disappearance will be conducting interviews over the next several days. Please give them your full cooperation." And with that, Sprout dismissed them.

Students began standing to leave, 5th-year prefects calling their Houses' new first-years to gather. Hermione clutched at Ron's sleeve, eyes eager and bright.

"You realize this is because you landed yourself in the hospital?" she asked him, fortunately too low to be heard by the other students. "The Defense report, I mean."

"No... Does that mean I don't have to do it?" Ron asked hopefully.

_You'd think Ron would know better by now_, Harry thought, as Hermione's expression went flat. "You're doing the report, Ron," she told him. Ron's face fell.

"Thanks bunches, Ron," Harry said teasingly, nudging him with his elbow in the hopes that he'd be distracted. "More homework for us."

Ron glared at him. "What?" he asked testily, not taking the bait. "It's not like you'd have anything to say. 'I was fine, I've got no core magic to sneakily practice anyway.'"

Harry frowned. Okay, so Ron had lost something like half his summer to the hospital, but that was a bit much. "You _do_ realize that it might be something I need to beat Voldemort?"

Ron's head shot up. "Don't say..!"

"... his name," Harry finished. "I know, I know. Still." He waited for Ron's temper to catch up with what he'd actually heard.

After a moment, Ron glanced away. "You know, maybe you should try getting it checked again," he offered in a low voice. "You kinda trust Genkai more now, don't you? The whole 'not trying to kill anybody at the end of the year' might've helped?"

Ouch. But Ron didn't know... okay. Harry hummed noncommittally. "Maybe. Don't know if that was the problem, really." And if it was, well... she hadn't killed, but she knew Kurama had.

Maybe Harry should figure out what he really thought of that.

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"Mr. Malfoy, the Auror department does not have the manpower to allot a bodyguard to your son."

"He disappeared from this school, Shacklebolt!"

"On the contrary, he disappeared from the train. But surely we can work out a compromise with the Headmaster...?"

All eyes fell on Dumbledore, who solemnly steepled his hands. "Given the gravity of the situation..." he murmured, slowly, "perhaps it would be best if Mr. Malfoy was confined to school grounds for the foreseeable future. Unless he wishes to delay his studies for a full year?"

"A _year_?" Draco echoed, appalled.

"My apologies, Mr. Malfoy, allow me to elaborate. I would, of course, mean if you wished to return home until the perpetrators are caught, you would be permitted to. However, should you elect to do so, you would fall irreparably behind. NEWT-level coursework cannot simply be made up, particularly given that there is no assurance of when the perpetrators will be caught."

"Fall behind..." Draco repeated weakly. Go home. After all this work to keep Draco _out_ of Voldemort's hands, Dumbledore was advising that he go home? Was the man that much of an idiot?

"It would hardly be the first time that a student has taken a year off," Dumbledore mused. "Granted, the precedent was set by girls whose charms had, er, failed..." Draco deliberately made a strangled, offended sound, "but there's certainly been no shortage of other reasons since the Founders' time!" Dumbledore continued. "Why, I had a Housemate who took his sixth year off to settle his father's estate... sad state of affairs, that, it seemed the poor man had transfigured himself into a cockatoo and become stuck..."

"I am NOT going to fall behind!" Draco snapped.

"You would likely have to retake your OWLs," Dumbledore added blithely, and now Draco _knew_ the old man was doing this on purpose. "To insure you hadn't forgotten too much away from the classroom."

This brought Draco up short. "What were my OWLs, anyway?"

"You recieved passing marks in everything except History and Care of Magical Creatures," Snape told him. Draco's mouth twisted in a sneer. What a surprise, considering the teachers. "Do remind us to find your transcript before we finish here."

"Yes," Draco agreed pointedly, "I'll need them to select NEWT classes."

Lucius frowned. "Draco, I cannot condone you staying here without adequate protection... Headmaster, might I inquire as to what you are doing?"

Dumbledore looked up from where he was rummaging in a drawer. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I seem to recall a trinket from... oh, it has to be Uric the Oddball's time, I believe it was created specifically to keep track of him as a student... ah, where is my memory? _Accio _Portrait of Trista!"

Something thumped in a cabinet set in the back of an alcove. Dumbledore stepped over to it and opened the door, catching a round object that came sailing out at his head. "Here we are. Good evening, Madame," he addressed the object; a wide silver cuff, blackened with age. He turned the cuff so that the rest of the room could see an oval painting of a woman set in one side.

Draco peered at the tiny image of, presumably, Trista. She was an aging, plain-faced lady in the distinctive starched-lace ruff of fine Elizabethan robes. Her face was lined, drooping jowls giving the impression of a permanent frown, but her gaze was bright and sharp. She twitched, mouth moving in what was probably a disapproving "hmmph", but no sound came from the portrait.

"If you agree to wear the bracelet, Draco, you needn't worry about your privacy. Madame Trista is mute." The portrait rolled her eyes. "And the absolute soul of discretion; she'll only communicate with other portraits or people to raise the alarm if her charge is attacked or in danger."

Draco glanced at his father, whose expression was stony. With Draco's protests and the Aurors watching, the situation really had only one way to go... and they all knew it.

"I'll take the bracelet," Draco said.

"Excellent. Now, then, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, if you would please inform Trista that you've given consent, I do believe the House Elves will have saved enough of the welcoming feast for all of us..."

Lucius' voice was cold as he bit out his agreement.

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The Feast had finished without a squad of Aurors kicking down the doors and arresting Kurama and the other Tantei on charges of kidnapping. So now, three hours after arriving at Hogwarts, Kurama figured that if Draco hadn't tripped up yet, he wasn't going to... and Kurama would be safe in resetting his security for the coming year.

He inobtrusively left the common room, abandoning his fellow Slytherins to their activities (this mostly consisted of pretending to not be lying in wait for Draco to return; no doubt the resulting interrogation would create a whole new set of wild rumors to put into circulation). The halls back here were pleasantly cool and dim, lit only by small lanterns, and deserted.

In the dorm, Kurama trimmed the Devil's Snare in the bedcurtains, shaking a few pitiful mouse skeletons out to be swept up by the House Elves the next day. A new flowerpot found a home on his nightstand, this one containing the Makai equivalent of a bluebell. Several stinging nettles encircled his new trunk, covering the side that opened to the apothecary drawers holding his Makai and Reikai seeds.

Then Kurama set his sights on his spyeye, thriving after the summer's warmth, despite a season's neglect. The Slytherin dorms had windows open to the narrow cove where the first-year boats docked, and his vine curled down the bluff and into the lower dungeons through cracks in the stone from here. Fortunately, this year the spyeye only required a relatively quick check (some ten minutes or so, considering its size) to insure that it hadn't grown wild and that the lens-flowers were all still in useful spots.

Kurama was still sitting on the windowsill when the door clicked open behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, remembering all too well Draco's attempt to bully him this time last year, and spotted Blaise.

"Tired of waiting?" Kurama asked, half his attention still in the vine.

The black boy shrugged. "We have the whole year to help his memory." _Yes_, Kurama thought, _that_ is _going to be a bit of a challenge_. Blaise added, "And if they do the questioning properly, he won't be back until at least two in the morning."

"Ah." Kurama redirected a lens in the Gryffindor boys' staircase, sacrificing the best view in favor of improved secrecy from Neville. "Good point."

Blaise stepped up next to him, peering out the window, following Kurama's gaze down towards the surface of the water. "What are you watching?"

"Skinny dippers," Kurama replied dryly.

Blaise choked on a puff of laughter. "No, really."

It was Kurama's turn to shrug. "It's a nice night, that's all." He twitched his hand, curled in the leafy vines below the window. "The ivy's thriving. And I think it's going to rain later."

"If you say so," Blaise responded, losing interest.

"I could always give in to my well-reared impulses and try to quote appropriate poetry about it, I suppose. 'Moonflowers; at each one, wind rustles.' Issa, 1803."

"There aren't any flowers," Blaise pointed out.

"Picky," Kurama muttered, and waited until Blaise found a book and left, before concentrating on his plants again.

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"Stop thinking so loud, Potter," Hiei said flatly, up in the Gryffindor dorm.

Harry blinked, startled out of his thoughts, and pushed himself half-up off his pillow. The other boy was carefully checking the posts of his own bed, quill and ink in hand. Swirls of old ink glowed faintly violet, faded in spots that Hiei was reinking. "What?"

Hiei didn't look at him, pointing the feathered end of the quill at Harry, making slow circles in his direction. "You're thinking. Stop it. You don't know how."

"Hey!"

"Then think in quieter circles. Or get to a conclusion."

Yuusuke aimed a kick at Hiei's bedframe, causing Hiei to jerk his quill back with a hiss. "Aw, let him be, man. He ain't the only one wonderin' about Malfoy. Least he's not babbling about it like the kids downstairs."

"I'm not thinking about that, actually," Harry told them, sitting fully upright. The words gained him two surprised looks. "I'm thinking about my first Defense professor. Guy named Quirrell."

Yuusuke peered at him, head tilting with curiosity. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. He was working for Volde-- er, You-Know-Who. He died." Harry paused, gaze dropping to his quilt. "Looking back... I guess I killed him."

"You _guess_?"

Harry hesitated. But hell, Voldemort had negated the usefulness anyway. "Protective magic. He sort of disintegrated trying to strangle me."

"Huh." Yuusuke considered this for a long moment, leg swinging along the foot of his bed. "Yeah, I guess that does count. Self-defense, but ain't like the rest of us can throw stones. What brought this on?"

Brought 'this'? Oh, the line of thought. "Dunno. I don't really care about Malfoy," Harry lied, "But this is the first time I've had a Defense professor who didn't end up attacking me. It didn't really hit until I saw that Genkai's back."

Yuusuke snorted. "She might yet attack you. Calls it 'training'."

Harry recognized that as a distraction tactic. "That," Harry answered, deciding to go along with it, "would be if I caught her attention like you did. Not looking likely."

"Lucky you," Yuusuke muttered, thumping a foot against his trunk.

The door banged open. "Hey guys," Seamus said as he entered. "Can you believe it? Homework! On the first day! I wasn't even going to take Defense!" His Irish accent thickened as he warmed up to his topic.

Harry made a few sounds of agreement, not that Seamus needed the encouragement to continue, and let the flow of words wash over him as he returned to his thoughts.

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TBC

A/N's -

- "Sprout's been teaching longer." The HP lexicon indicates that Flitwick has been working at Hogwarts since the 1970's (assuming HP is set with Harry born in 1980), but gives no dates for Sprout. What little is known about her doesn't contradict Hermione's point here.

- Trista. The HP Lexicon suggests that Uric the Oddball's name is a phonetic reference to Yorick, from the Shakespearean play Hamlet (the skull: "alas, poor Yorick; I knew him well"). An alleged descendant of the same name narrates the Laurence Stern novel, _Tristam Shandy_. Tristam shifts to Trista, ta dah.


	11. Transcription

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's -

- she's aliiiiiive, she's aliiiiiive. Sorry about the slow update.

- I'm not following the courseloads or schedules given in Half-Blood Prince, mostly because I had my arrangement prior to that book's release.

- I'm also not using JKR's NEWT-selection scene. It doesn't make any sense to me to not have the 6th-year schedules arranged until the morning that classes start.

- barrister: known as a lawyer in the United States

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Ch. 11 - Transcription

The grandfather clock was chiming two when Draco, eyes crossing from exhaustion, trudged into the Slytherin common room. It had taken nearly four hours for his parents (usually mindful of etiquette and the moods of both guests and hosts) to notice the growing impatience of the Aurors and take their leave of Hogwarts. Four hours, all spent catching up on the summer's lost family time while not letting any hints of Dark Lords or Japan drop... Draco never thought he'd be _glad_ of an Auror's presence!

His head spinning, vision narrowed, Draco almost walked right past the couches near the hearth. But something lying on it shifted and began snoring, catching Draco's attention. He blinked in incomprehension, mind needing a long second to process the image.

Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle lay slumped on the black couches: Crabbe and Goyle's bulky forms filled most of one couch, while Pansy was tucked in a prim little ball in the corner of the opposite sofa.

... had they tried to wait up for Draco? That was... Gryffindorishly stupid. Maybe even Hufflepuffian. And Draco didn't care if those were words or not.

He drew his foot back to kick the couch leg, then paused. Did he really want to wake them?

Pansy would go back to crying and clinging. Which was great during the day, or when he was awake and could appreciate having a girl plastered to him. She had a decent figure ... that is, she'd had one prior to OWLs and Draco's disappearance. She could stand to have a good meal or ten right about now. But the point was that she'd wail and fuss, and if she didn't wake up the whole House she'd at least wake Crabbe and Goyle. Those two would probably just go right to bed without any complaint or more than a couple of token questions... but would they go to sleep, or just stare at Draco's bed like big dumb dogs for the rest of the night?

It was a question Draco had no interest in finding the answer to. He set his foot back down and edged away from the couches, creeping to the boys' halls in silence. Most of the lanterns back here had long since run out of oil, only a tiny nightlamp at the entrance to the bathrooms still burning, and Draco found his way to his door mostly out of habit.

The dorm was brighter than in the hallway had been. Someone had left the window curtains open, and the moon was high enough now to shine into the dorm. Draco stepped inside, letting the door swing back into place. The quiet _snick_ of the latch faded against the rustle of heavy fabric; somebody was awake.

"Welcome back."

Kurama. What a surprise, Draco thought sarcastically as he glanced to the right. The redhead was sitting up in his bed by the door, curtains barely closed, open curiosity on his face.

Draco sighed. Dammit. He wanted to sleep, not give a report disguised as a greeting. "Did I wake you?" he asked.

"Yes," Kurama replied simply. His next word was expectant. "So...?"

"I'm sure the whole school's heard that I didn't know it was September," Draco muttered, before flashing the steel cuff. "So I've been chained to Hogwarts until they catch the guy."

If Draco hadn't been looking for it, he would've never caught the flicker of smug relief that Kurama let him see. "Interesting," Kurama murmured. "May I look?"

Draco held out his arm wordlessly. No doubt he'd be getting used to the gesture over the next several days.

Kurama peered at the little portrait for a long moment, considering the elderly woman studying him in return. "I don't think she approves of me."

"Big surprise," Draco muttered. "She's somebody's prim, bitter spinster of an aunt, I bet. I probably won't even get to read the _good_ magazines this year. And I don't know how I'm supposed to bathe with her around," he added, tugging his wrist free of Kurama's grip to glare at the old woman. She hid a smirk behind a lace fan. "Yeah, laugh it up, lady; I'm not required to be polite to you." She waved that off, and Draco snorted, shoving the cuff back up his sleeve. "Better than the alternative, I guess," he told Kurama, carefully working his way to his own bed. (There were a few loose shoes and a book ready to be tripped over, as far as Draco could tell from the shadowy shapes on the floor.) "Could've had some _real_ person following me around all year."

If Kurama had any opinion of that, he wasn't saying, and Draco wasn't interested in checking the demon's expression anymore. He was _home._

A set of pajamas in Draco's size were waiting for him on the coverlet. He took them with faint relief. So much better than the box of musty castoffs he'd had in Japan, though they still weren't his own high-quality garments. He'd probably outgrown his old clothes... he would have to check after his trunk arrived from the evidence lockup.

"I'm for bed," he finished, in case Kurama hadn't gotten the hint that this conversation was over. "Night."

He nearly didn't hear the quiet, cool reply. "Good night, Draco."

-0-0-0

_Evidence: Potion samples (To Be Tested)  
Date: 2 Sept. 1996_

_Location: 1. Hogwarts potions office (vials labeled A-4) 2. Hogwarts potions classroom (vials labeled B-4) 3. Hogwarts potions supply cabinet (vials labeled C-4) 4. Hogwarts potions storage cupboard (vials labeled D-5) 5. Hogwarts infirmary (vials labeled E-8). Cross-reference to Diagrams 4, 5, 8._

_Copy of stock list attached: amounts of ingredients and relevant potions verified. Cross-reference samples to full list, note discrepencies._

-0-0-0

Morning came too early for Harry, who'd spent far too long trying to figure out Malfoy's reappearance before sleep had finally taken over. Breakfast, at least, came none too soon, and he piled food onto his plate and tucked in with all the enthusiasm of any teenage boy.

The schedules' typical arrival gained the same response as the past five years: Ron unfolded his one-handed, made a face, and muttered about first-thing Potions. He didn't even bother to sound surprised anymore.

Harry sighed. "It could be worse," he said. "It could be taught by... I dunno. Hey, can you imagine what would happen if Gilderoy Lockheart taught Potions? At least... I mean, with Snape, you pretty much get what you expect." He shoved Hermione's plate toward her again, since she had been inching it away as she studied her schedule.

The morning post came a few minutes after that, a package landing next to Ginny's plate. She turned it to read the address, then rolled her eyes. "The twins."

The four people nearest her edged away.

Yuusuke was looking on interestedly. "Oh, that should be something cool," he said casually, ignoring the horrified looks of those around him. "Open it! Let's see!"

"Okay, okay!" she said, waving him back. "Let's get this over with." And she opened the box.

Every sixth-year in the Great Hall disappeared. In their place, over forty lizard-like amphibians sat, blinking beady black eyes in complete bewilderment. Laughter sputtered around the Hall.

Ginny picked up the lizard nearest to her. "Newts," she muttered. "Just remember you asked for it, Urameshi."

Yuusuke-newt stuck his tongue out at her and slid back onto the table. Clumsily, he crawled onto his goblet, peering towards the Ravenclaw table with his tail flicking.

Colin Creevy gingerly picked up the note that had accompanied the package. "Well," he said, after a moment, "It should wear off after five minutes or so, according to the note. They don't want anyone to 'miss expanding the horizons of their knowledge'... I think that was supposed to be sarcastic."

Ginny regarded the Yuusuke-newt with a bemused expression, then took the letter. "They're dead men," she sighed. "The entire Sixth Year class will be out for blood."

Her words slowly sank in. One by one, the Gryffindors began snickering.

-0-0-0

_Date: 2 Sept. 1996_

_Subject: Hermione Granger_

_House: Gryffindor_

_Age: 16_

_Interviewer: Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Summary of conversation: Subject claimed to have not been on train car in question, though admitted to using toilet 5 (see Diagram 1-A) on afternoon of incident. Subject went on to deduce official suspiscion of herself, as evidenced by timing of interview. Subject admitted long-standing grudge towards victim (statement corroborated by many, list attached), highly advanced magical skill (see school transcript, OWL report, Jan. 1993 medical report re: misused Polyjuice), and ongoing private research into several fields of study (see library register, Sept. 1991-June 1996). Further questioning served to agitate subject (see notes, below) on topic of NEWT courseload. Subject requested and was provided with a note for missing class. Subject accepted an apology for poor timing of interview._

_Notes: Subject has been advised to refrain from using her wand until such time as it can be examined by Analyst Dubois._

_Transcript of conversation attached._

-0-0-0

Granger's return from her interview, late in the morning during Transfiguration, left her, Potter, and Weasley with detentions from Snape and fifty lost points total.

Draco carefully held onto his smirk. It was her own damn fault for missing Potions. And it had been entirely too easy to lead the non-Gryffindors (except Kurama and Yukimura, damn them) in sharing rumors of Granger's guilt. The Aurors wouldn't interview her first if she wasn't the top suspect, now would they.

-0-0-0

_Date: 2 Sept. 1996_

_Subject: Thomas Urquhart_

_House: Slytherin_

_Age: 17_

_Interviewer: N. Tonks_

_Summary of conversation: Subject expressed cursory interest in case. Subject denied all involvement. When asked about Transfiguration scores, subject informed interviewer to check school transcript (see attached). Subject demanded to see setting of Quick-Quills, was denied due to protocols re: tampering. Subject refused to answer further questions without a barrister present._

_Notes: Subject is uncooperative and hostile. Call barrister prior to further questioning._

_Transcript of conversation attached._

-0-0-0

Thomas Urquhart was not late to dinner, much to the surprise of his Housemates. The rumor mill was a grand and glorious thing: within an hour (which was when the last classes had ended), every Slytherin knew the details about who, why, and exactly when the first of their number had been summoned by the interviewing Aurors.

According to what Kurama heard, Thomas Urquhart was the top Slytherin student in NEWT-level Transfigurations, and well-ranked in Charms. His family wasn't rich, and their pureblood stance relatively moderate... meaning that, in theory, they didn't object to Muggle heritage, as long as they weren't expected to marry people with any.

In theory, this kept the family completely under the sights of both political camps. In practice, Thomas had lost relatives to both sides in the last war. It seemed highly unlikely that Thomas would wait this long to attack Draco, had the older Slytherin had any issues with that, but still... his abilities and affiliations did put him on the suspect list.

Kurama managed to wrangle a seat within earshot of the studiously placid older boy, and loaded his plate as he waited for the inevitable question.

"That was quick!" one of Urquhart's roommates said pointedly.

Urquhart shrugged, leaning on his elbow. "I demanded my barrister," he said, purposefully loud enough to be easily heard by nearby tablemates... including Kurama. "It's the best strategy," the boy added. "They don't let you see what they've set their Quick-Quotes on."

_Quick-Quotes?_ Kurama wondered. _Must be a transcribing device... wait, several students use them in History, don't they? _

A first-year, seated closely enough that he had to be one of Thomas' relatives, piped up, "Doesn't that make you look bad, though? Refusing to cooperate?"

"Better to refuse," Urquhart told them seriously, "than to let a propaganda-set quill write a blubbering confession that never happened."

Kurama took a bite of food, adding an understanding hum to the chorus of agreement that went up.

-0-0-0

_Date: 3 Sept. 1996_

_Subject: Orla Quirke_

_House: Ravenclaw_

_Age: 12_

_Interviewer: N. Tonks_

_Summary of conversation: Subject admitted to spreading word of victim's reappearance, and gave names of fellow gossipmongers (see list, attached). Subject attempted to expound on rumors re: incident, namely the contradictory nature of removing as well as returning victim. Subject gave opinion that there are multiple perpetrators. Subject advised interviewing Weasley family (see: Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes; Fred, George, Ronald, Ginevra Weasley). Subject also advised interviewing various Muggle and animal rights activist groups (see list, attached), Muggleborns, victims of YKW, and various Hogwarts staff (see list, attached)._

_Notes: Subject seems unreliable._

_Transcript of conversation attached._

-0-0-0

Keiko reported that Orla's interview had resulted in a six-hour debriefing with Luna Lovegood, a fifth year Ravenclaw. Rolling her eyes, Keiko added that she wouldn't be surprised if the Quibbler ran a piece about a conspiracy among the Aurors to frame both the Weasley family and the DLF (Dragon Liberation Front) for the summer-time disappearance of Draco Malfoy, when in fact it had been the Aurors who had carried it out from the beginning in order to brainwash the Malfoy heir into betraying his family.

-0-0-0-0-0-0

_Date: 3 Sept. 1996_

_Subject: Rose Zeller_

_House: Hufflepuff_

_Age: 12_

_Interviewer: Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Summary of conversation: Subject claims to have observed victim leaving toilet 4 (see Diagram 1-A) at approximately 7 pm on Sept. 1st. Subject did not interact with victim, and is of the opinion that victim seemed abnormally calm. Further speculation indicates that observed abnormality of victim's behavior is due to subject's assumption that victim was aware of disappearance, contradictory to victim's statement. Subject proceeded to burst into tears and deny all involvement._

_Notes: Further questioning is not advised._

_Transcript of conversation attached._

-0-0-0

By lunchtime on Wednesday, the whole school knew that little Rose Zeller had fled from her interview sobbing. She'd been found an hour later in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, with three second-year Slytherins outside the door loudly discussing how the Aurors were going to arrest every person they interviewed. Said Slytherins shortly found themselves in the hospital wing with bat wings in place of their ears, courtesy of a quick-wanded Ravenclaw.

-0-0-0

_Date: 3 Sept. 1996_

_Subject: Botan Shinime_

_House: Hufflepuff_

_Age: 16_

_Interviewer: N. Tonks_

_Summary of conversation: Subject reiterated claim to have slept in compartment 9, car 13 (see Diagram 1-A) through most of Hogsmeade-King's Cross connection (statement corroborated, see list attached) in June. Subject does not recall seeing victim until morning of Sept. 2nd, as was near the back of the crowd. When questioned re: core magic (materialization of flying oar), subject demonstrated (see photograph, attached). Subject permitted interviewer to examine flying oar. Subject claims typical lack of skill in vanishing spells (see school transcript, attached)._

_Notes: Witnesses do not recall seeing a broom rider outside the train at any point on the days in question._

_Transcript of conversation attached._

-0-0-0

The Hufflepuffs caught Botan on the Quidditch pitch three hours after her interview. Her hair and robes were sticky with sweat, and bits of grass clung to her. A streak of mud from ankle to ribs showed where she'd crashed at some point in her workout. Two of the girls frog-marched her back to the dorm for a bath and a healthy dose of Calming Potion.

Later, she admitted to the Tantei that she'd been venting her relief at not getting caught. The Hufflepuffs, and in fact the entire school, believed otherwise.

Slowly, inexorably, Hufflepuff House began to close its ranks.

-0-0-0

_Date: 4 Sept. 1996_

_Subject: Hiei Jaganshi _

_House: Gryffindor_

_Age: 16_

_Interviewer: Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Summary of conversation: Subject gave evidence that he was not on train at time of first incident. Subject claimed to have eaten lunch at The Three Broomsticks with sister and professor (statement corroborated: Yukina Koorime, Prof. Genkai, Madam Rosmerta), tentatively identified meal (see copy, bill of sale, attached). Subject claimed to have continued to Ben Nevis, reaching the mountain that night (statement could not be verified). On day of return incident, subject claims to have not seen victim until reaching Hogwarts entry hall (statement corroborated: see list attached). Subject claims no quarrel with victim, and that the incident deeply upset his sister (victim's tutor). Subject was openly hostile re: sister's distress._

_Notes: Subject could not be reached for interview prior to Sept. 1st._

_Transcript of conversation attached._

-0-0-0

By dinnertime on Thursday, the Gryffindors had given up on coaxing Hiei down from the roof. Instead, some enterprising young soul rallied teams of the 4th- and 5th-years in a faceoff of charmwork: Banishing Charms (the 4ths) vs. Summoning Charms (the 5ths), using random debris and Hiei's swordwork. The more pieces an object wound up in, the more points; each round ended when an item was lost off the rooftop or returned into the school.

Hiei pretended not to notice.

-0-0-0

_Date: 5 Sept. 1996_

_Subject: Gregory Goyle_

_House: Slytherin_

_Age: 16_

_Interviewer: N. Tonks_

_Summary of conversation: Subject inquired if interview would extend through dinner. After some prompting, subject gave opinion that those with Muggle heritage or lack of money could not have overpowered victim. Subject eventually offered list of possible suspects (see attached)._

_Notes: List given does not take into account presence on train or actual abilities as evidenced by school transcripts._

_Transcript of conversation attached._

TBC

A/N's -

- vanishing spells are taught in 5th-year Transfiguration. (Best Defense, Ch. 14)

- Thomas Urquhart: "Urquhart" was the Slytherin Quidditch captain in Half-Blood Prince, and therefore is most likely a year older than Harry. (Information: Harry Potter Lexicon) The old Urquhart barony is located near Inverness, Loch Ness, Scotland, and I named the character after an author from the 1600's. (Information: houseofnames dot com)

BONUS: DVD commentary

JoIsBishMyoga: I can't make the first breakfast interesting.

LadyViolet: why not? curious

JoIsBishMyoga: Harry: Woe, I am a cardboard cutout.

Ron: I am a cardboard cutout with a black hole in place of my mouth. Watch me vaccuum up food until I get my course schedule.

Hermione: And you're surprised to have Potions first again... why?

Ron: Because this is a cardboard cutout breakfast and therefore I must whine about Potions.

Harry: Yeah, what he said.

Hermione: Why aren't we doing the canon NEWT selection?

Harry: Because Jo thinks it's weird and everybody's read the canon anyway.

LadyViolet: So?

LadyViolet: Do the first breakfast from Yuusuke's POV when he gets bored and books over to Ravenclaw to torment Keiko

LadyViolet: Because he thinks this looks an awful lot like the breakfast from last year

LadyViolet: oh wait

JoIsBishMyoga: yyyyyyeah

LadyViolet: Yuusuke isn't one of your POVs

LadyViolet: damn it

LadyViolet: do it from Harry's POV, and have it start out normal, but then take a left turn at weirds-ville. Ron's picking at his food. Hermione says "We've got Potions first" and Harry and Ron go "So? How is this different?" And then have Ginny open a package from the twins (and she really should have known better, honestly), and all the Sixth Years get turned into Newts for five minutes, but then they get better.

JoIsBishMyoga: SPUTTER

JoIsBishMyoga: The twins WOULD do that.

LadyViolet: yup.

LadyViolet: Then, everyone gets to deal with newt-ification and interviews


	12. Retcon

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's -

- thanks go to jaganshikenshin, for giving me some suggestions of what to write other than the things that were frustrating me; artimusdin, for pointing me at a fic; and rei-kuhori for writing it. I rediscovered my ability to write this story after reading hers. I'd forgotten I could just _play._

- flat: Americans call this an apartment

- crisps: Americans call these chips

- I will be reposting Ch. 1 eventually, but the only differences are a few sentences at the end of the actual story part of the chapter, a longer set of warnings and disclaimers, a more specific explanation of the timeline (essentially, this IS set in Harry Potter's 6th year), and a letter regarding reviewing and updates. This letter matches one that has been in my author's profile for several months. _Please_ read the letter.

-0-0-0

Ch. 12 - Retcon

The first Friday night of the school year found the Tantei crowded in Genkai's quarters, in a high-ceilinged room that had added itself to her flat over the summer. The last of the interrogating Aurors had left, reports in hand, just a few short hours before; nobody left in the school should notice the simultaneous disappearance of all seven transfer students and their professor for a couple of hours.

Bags of crisps and cans of juice littered the table, some already opened, by the time Genkai arrived. She dumped a stack of crumpled and food-stained rolls of parchment into a bin in the corner as she entered.

"Summer report," she announced, "and let's attempt a logical order? What little we know of Japan, Keiko."

"Shizuru told me magical animal attacks are up. The demons are still recovering from the death toll in the Dark Tournament, and the wizards are starting to vocalize interest in expanding their power base at the cost of the demon population, claiming persecution. Which," she quickly added, "is nonsense, since they can attack demons with impunity and demons get in trouble with Reikai if they fight back."

"Leave personal opinions out of this, Keiko. Anything else?"

"I... sort of worked on my core magic." She pulled a small, papery box from a pocket. "My book said Muggle objects weren't good with magic, due to mass production. But since a lot of wizard things, like Gobstones and Chocolate Frog cards, are mass-produced with magic, I figured... um... I spliced a karaoke machine with a lily bulb."

Kurama's eyes lit up. "May I?" he asked, holding out a hand. Keiko dropped the bulb into it, the papery covering crackling, and it sprouted. The shoots were a gleaming red; a leaf popped out, textured with mesh, and a large spherical flower bloomed. "Niiiiiice," he purred, letting the growth collapse back into the plain bulb. But back to business. "Are we going in a circle to report?" Kurama asked Genkai.

She flapped a hand at him, and Kurama took that as a request to just go ahead.

"I spent most of the summer handling damage control at the Longbottoms'. If the grandmother is any indication of prevalent wizard attitudes, I can rather safely say that few of our students will have been allowed to practice over the summer... or won't have done so under supervision." Lesson plans would have to be adjusted to account for remedial study...

Genkai made a face. "Ron Weasley spent a week and a half in St. Mungo's after experimenting with his chessboard without a partner."

"A week?" Yuusuke blurted, amidst startled gasps.

... or that, too. "Neville almost ripped his house apart," Kurama offered. Less surprise at this; Kurama had written about the incident in a couple of his letters.

Genkai paused, then sighed. "Malfoy would've killed an animal that attacked him, too, if Shizuru hadn't gotten it first. Filled its mouth with crystal almost all the way to the lungs."

A moment passed. The tantei stared at each other; Kurama knew each and every one of them had misused their powers early on. Not that he could quite remember what he'd done... something about a berry bush and a lot of thorns in his tail, and ripping out a rabbit's jugular, or had that been two different incidents?

Then Keiko shyly raised her hand. "Um... I nearly blasted out my windows with one of my earlier experiments with the karaoke machine."

Genkai glared. "That had better be in your essay." She cast a dark look at the binful of messy scrolls. "Who did something that _wasn't_ dumb these past two months?"

Silence, then Yukina pulled a stack of maps from an inside pocket of her robes, and spread them across the table. "Kazuma-kun and I found magical sites, and marked them all on these." She opened one of the colorful maps, showing that it was an extremely detailed closeup of a patch of Britain, in the southern pennisula of Cornwall. You could make out the shapes of individual houses, smaller ones the size of a thumbnail. There was a navy blue sticker a finger's width from the south coastline, and an orange one further inland. "The orange marks sites that are probably more than five years old," Yukina murmured. "The blue's less than a year. We've got green for between one and five years, and they're all two different shades -- the darker's for possible evil magic. They made Kazuma-kun sick to his stomach."

"_Much_ better," Genkai approved, charming the stack of maps to unfold and plaster themselves on a nearby wall in order, soon delineating the entirety of Cornwall and Wales.

Hiei tossed his own stack of maps onto the table. "Stupid things are in every gas station and tourist trap in the nation," he muttered. "Mine aren't color-coded."

Genkai cast the same charm, but upon realizing that Hiei's maps were from Northern England and Scotland (and, consequently, up near the ceiling), she pulled them back down and had them spread themselves across the table.

Kurama leaned forward to find the nearest of Hiei's markings, discovering an inkblot and a scribbled label. He managed to read _"Fens - puddled magic, large round gap in middle; refer Ben Nevis"_ before the map twisted away from him.

"Hey!" Yuusuke blurted. "I was readin' that!"

"Hogging it, you mean," Botan retorted, as Kurama stood and walked around the table to peer over Botan's shoulder instead.

"An' what are you doin'? Same thing!" Yuusuke pulled it back into its former position.

Genkai glued the papers (and, just for good measure, the table) into place with a charm. "Somebody just read Hiei's notes aloud before I have to wallop some patience into you numbskulls."

The irony was not lost on Kurama as he commandeered Yuusuke's place at the table, where he could read the nearer parts of the map properly. The Fens, Kurama had already seen; several repetitive comments on circles of standing stones, still in use; a hobgoblin on the shores of North Yorkshire, almost due south of another Fen-like site out to sea. A third Fen-like site near Newcastle-upon-Tyne; Tantellon Castle in Scotland, magically blank but on a high cliff, and useful for triangulating the exact position of the Fen-site in the sea, east-southeast of it.

Rumors of missing spectres in the borders of Scotland; a quarter-mile of land and a house completely vanished from the map, a note that the scent of werewolf lingered near the edges. Kurama continued up the map, finding more and more notes as the Muggle population thinned. Hiei had gone so far as to mark Hogwarts' general, Unplottable location as a site of "proven V. activity".

Finishing, Kurama twisted to sit... huh, when had he climbed on the table? "That's it for Hiei's part of Britain," he said unnecessarily. "Any of that sound familiar?"

"Yeah!" Kuwabara answered, though he sobered fast. "Sort of. I was still pretty screwed up from the pixie bites..." Ah, yes. His surprise allergy, that had spurred Yukina to leave Genkai and their summer flat in Hogsmeade. "But the puddle-magic thing, that's the dark blue site on the south coast there. Near the Weasleys'," he added, gesturing.

Botan bent to peer at that section of the maps on the wall. "It's really closer to Torbay than Ottery St. Catchpole... easily fifty, sixty kilometers."

Kuwabara shrugged. "Closer to them than the wizards in Penzance."

"True," she replied absently, brushing a finger over the paper. "I wonder why...?"

A whirlwind of paper made her duck. Genkai was returning Hiei's maps to positions on the wall, filling in the full outline of the island. A few gaps remained, missing maps from the Hebrides and one or two in south-central England, but for the most part the combined nations of Great Britain were displayed.

"Last call, then," Genkai announced, "Since Botan worked the summer and can't contribute. Yuusuke?"

"Meh, I spent July tryin' not ta pummel that sumo wannabe cousin of Potter's into street pizza, and August gettin' run offa no-longer-private property and called a 'Jap spy' by blitzed ghosts who ain't figured out that World War 2's over."

"There's a terrible backlog here in Britain," Botan said, carefully not looking at Genkai. "That's why Voldemort and the Diggory boy wound up in our jurisdiction in the first place."

"Whatever. Still didn't get much done. The whole of southeast England is a mess an' I ain't got Kuwabara's psychic freakiness to clear a damn thing up." Yuusuke offered an impartial glare to anyone who would comment on the backhanded compliment, then went on, "But I got a subscription to the London Times. Post office box. It'll need a charm to get delivered here or somethin', but I figured..."

Keiko coughed.

"... Okay, _Keiko _figured it'd be good to keep an eye on what's happening to the Muggles. That asshole's more likely to start his attacks with them instead of wizards, they're easy targets and ain't nobody wizard gonna notice real quick."

"Good work, Keiko. Anything else?" Genkai asked. There was no response. "Right, then. Start coming up with suggestions for how we can keep Malfoy out of his parents' hands through winter and spring break. Somebody check Potter discreetly, make sure he won't talk now that he's back among people who'll listen. _Discreetly_: that means Yuusuke and Kuwabara are out. I want everybody playing with the sites on our map, seeing if there's any discernable pattern. I'll keep manageably small copies in that drawer for you to take and work on in your own time. I'd like you all back for another meeting next Saturday night, and you'll get a fresh batch of 5th-years to play with. Plan your tutoring sessions accordingly; you'll have two experience levels to work with now. I hope none of you expect free time this year."

"Not anymore," Yuusuke grumbled.

-0-0-0

The weekend passed quietly, and without Aurors breathing down their necks, the new NEWT students finally noticed just how hard their classes were actually going to be.

Monday began with Snape storming into the Potions classroom, face thunderous, jars rattling in his wake. He charmed a piece of chalk to begin writing from ten feet away, bypassing the board entirely as the chalk screeched out jagged, blocky letters and finally snapped.

Human Contraceptive Potions.

That had _not_ been in the reading.

"The Ministry requires that I waste valuable class time teaching these potions, which few of you dunderheads will ever have the foresight to bother using," he snapped, irritable gaze pausing a split second on Ron as he glared down the class. "Well? You should all be able to locate the supplies cupboard by now. Get to work."

The class leapt from their seats as if kicked, clattering to the cupboards en masse.

"What's wrong with just using charms?" Ron whispered, peering around a Hufflepuff as if it would help him get to the front of the line any faster.

"Less reliable," Hermione answered, equally quiet and faking nonchalance. It would've been more believable had her face not been bright red.

Harry himself knew he was in the half of the class that had gone pale at the words on the board combined with Snape's baleful stare. Really, the Ministry could just assign Snape to write that in front of a class... it was probably more effective than the potions and charms combined. Brr.

-0-0-0

Teenage response to stress was universal, and what with how quickly the Aurors were followed by that Potions class and a disastrous Transfiguration class (really, who knew that deliberate partial transfigurations were so much harder than the equivalent hexes?), several of the sixth-years were sneaking sips of Calming Potion.

Others weren't satisfied with potions.

"Bugger off, Nott," Draco snapped. "I'm not going." His hair, still in iron spikes from a backfire in McGonagall's class, bobbed with the force of each word.

"But Draco..."

Draco shook his bracelet at Theodore Nott. "You see this?" he sneered, the portrait echoing the expression. "Think it won't march right off to tell the first professor she can find? Quit asking."

A heavy arm draped over his shoulder. "Did you ask?" Kurama asked, leaning over Draco.

"What? No!" What the hell was the demon thinking? Draco pulled away to glare into Kurama's secretly-amused face. Damn Kurama, always laughing that people thought he was _human..._

"I think you should ask," Kurama told him. "In fact, here, I'll do it."

Draco yanked the bangle away. "NO!"

Nott caught his wrist and twisted Draco's arm right back into Kurama's view, grinning.

"Thank you," Kurama murmured. "Lady Trista? Mind if we borrow your charge on a schoolboy kitchen raid?" A moment passed, in which Draco twisted and cursed and couldn't see the portrait on his own wrist... but he could see that damned smirk widen. "Thank you, Lady. We'll have him back in time to get some sleep before classes."

"There," Blaise said, as Nott and Kurama let Draco drop back onto his own bed. "No problem at all." He finished casting deep-sleep charms on Crabbe and Goyle (who, though they would've loved to come, had yet to figure out how to be quiet), and slid his feet into a pair of soft-soled slippers.

Draco stared at the prim old woman on his bracelet. She'd _allowed_ it? She was supposed to be a 'responsible adult' and babysit him, and she was allowing rule-breaking?

The bracelet winked.

Sweet Merlin, his school year _wasn't_ going to be ruined.

"Hey! Wait up!"

-0-0-0

"So, this many of you are back," Hiei said at the beginning of weapons training Tuesday morning, his hands folded on the hilt of his sword. The sheathed tip rested against the mat-covered floor. "How many of you trained over the summer?" Hands went up all over the room. "Formally," Hiei clarified. Slowly, most of the hands sunk under his uncompromising gaze.

Harry bit back a smidge of relief. At least he wasn't the only one who'd fallen behind. He turned his attention back to the front of the room as Hiei rolled his eyes.

"It won't be the first time someone's lost weeks," the Japanese boy stated, "Though _usually_ that's due to an injury." Several people winced at the reprimand, Harry among them. It just plain hadn't occured to Harry... even if the Dursleys had been willing (_that _would be the day!) or he hadn't been distracted by Ron's accident, he wouldn't have thought of keeping up over the summer.

"Today will be placement testing," Hiei decided aloud. "Expect to walk out of here with bruises." A final, disapproving stare at the class. "Let's stretch."

-0-0-0

After lunch, Professor Flitwick was barely able to start his lecture through his amusement.

"Today, we're going to be performing the... heh... immensely complicated Homorphus charm. Despite popular belief," another moment stifling a broad grin, "The Homorphus charm has little to do with lycanthropy or medicine. It's most commonly used in the portraiture and publishing industries; all your copies of the Prophet and Witches' Weekly, for example, were made with it. The charm's 'immense complexity' comes in the breaking of it. It's terribly difficult, as the charm's not designed to be reverseable... plus the fact that plain English tends to backfire. Best study your Latin!

"You'll all find an apple and an orange on your desk, yes? We'll be making the apple look like the orange... careful not to do the reverse, or somebody's going to get a nasty surprise biting into their apple at lunch tomorrow!"

_Oh, brilliant_, Harry thought, spotting Malfoy's face light up. _Definitely going to have Hermione checking my food for a while…_

"Wands up! The incantation is 'malum homorphus orenge'. Object to change first, spell second, object to match last. And tap your apple... good!"

-0-0-0

Wednesday afternoon found Kurama three meters up a tree, straddling the strongest branch and picking squirrel bones out of the maw of a singularly messy eater. The tree flinched as Kurama dug for one of the larger ones, and Kurama thumped the underside of the branch with his heel.

"Stop that," he chided, fingers gentling on the sticky wood. "If I don't get this out, you'll get wood-rot. I can assure you," he added, "that cutting that out would be much more unpleasant."

Neville ducked into the tree's shade. "How's it going?" he called up, setting down a bucket of meat scraps.  
"I think," Kurama carefully peered past the slanted, serrated thorns inside the trunk, spotting a far larger bone, "that it got a badger. Maybe we should see about putting up a fence until we can transplant."

He felt more than saw Neville start examining the tree's root system. "Will that really help?" Neville asked. "The Whomping Willow doesn't have one, and... wait, what type of fence?"

Kurama couldn't shrug, not with the thorns pressing so close. "Something Hagrid advises, most likely. Perhaps with some sort of aversion charm on it; I wouldn't know what. Just something so kids won't take its presence as a dare, and familiars won't get too curious."

"But why?"

"Well, one..." Kurama used a bit of his magic to check the distances involved; could he reach the bone without getting his arm shredded? "... it's starting to go for bigger prey than birds. Not the best thing to leave on school grounds. Two," He wouldn't be able to reach it physically, but the bone didn't seem to have splintered. Maybe he could leave it? "It's not a good time of year to transplant quite yet. And three, we'd have to transplant to the Forest, which is a mess in and of itself." Kurama began easing his hand out of the tree's mouth. "The centaurs aren't likely to be enthralled with having a new menace around. And we'll have to clear negotations with Dumbledore... I have the sinking feeling he'll invite us to handle them on our own."

Neville's head jerked up. "But he wouldn't! We're just students!"

"Oh, but he's so terribly busy," Kurama sat up and beamed innocently down at Neville, "And this is our project, ne?"

The boy stared up at him for a long moment, before his face twisted in a grimace. "It's not funny to joke like that."

Kurama laughed and began clambering back down the tree. "In the meantime, aside from handling this, we have a lot ahead of us this term. The tutoring, for one." He landed and stood, stretching. "You've been working mainly on strength and familiarizing yourself with different categories of plants. I'd like to start adding dexterity and control exercises, and later on begin Reikai plants. How does that sound to you?"

"Okay," Neville shrugged. "Ummm.... I was wondering... last year. At equinox..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"You've made that connection, then." It wasn't a question. Kurama folded his arms across his chest. "I can offer a tranquilizer, but that's about it. The fall equinox isn't pleasant. I'm sorry, but I won't take a double dose like I did the spring."

Neville bit his lip.

"It's a strong tranquilizer. I can promise that you won't shake it off during the day... in fact, you may miss the next day or two of classes." Kurama paused a moment, studying Neville's expression, then flatly added, "I won't be taking it."

"Why not?" The question tumbled out of Neville's mouth, almost on automatic.

Kurama blinked. "Because..." Most of those he'd used the drug on didn't survive the three days it took to come to, though not because of the drug itself. He'd simply left his victims where they'd fallen in Makai, and they'd been eaten. "... even though the drug puts you too far under for emotion, or dreams, or nightmares... I'm a paranoid Slytherin bastard."

Neville looked mulish. "Then I'm not either."

"Neville..."

"Have you _seen_ what a few bored Gryffindor kids can do to a guy? I'd rather not wake up with purple-striped horns and a nose like an Erumpent."

The mental image made Kurama choke on a laugh, breaking his mood. "Okay," he said with a huff. "Okay. But the offer's open if you... right, Gryffindors never change their minds. All right. Now," he dropped his arms, "dexterity. Have you ever made a cat's cradle? Good. If you've got a morning glory handy..."

-0-0-0

"Gather 'roun', gather 'roun'!" Hagrid's voice boomed unnecessarily over the mixed gaggle of 6th-years, a (theoretically) full-House assortment of students brave (or foolhardy) enough to take the Care of Magical Creatures NEWT. Most of the class was Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs; a large number of those were Genkai's. No Slytherins had dared the class.

Hagrid seemed delighted with the small numbers anyway, as enthusastic as ever as he gestured the class together. "Today's lesson ain't that interestin' in itself..." There were a few poorly hidden sighs of relief. "But I think yeh'll like it all th' same. Remember I tol' yeh las' week that our class shipment was late?" He pointed to a stack of crates on the lawn, some distance from his hut. "'At's a whole troupe o' clabberts, 'at is."

"Clabberts?" Hermione blurted, and for good reason: clabberts were third-year defense material, taught by Remus almost as an afterthought. All they did was rapidly flash a fancy-named pimple on their foreheads when they detected a threat. Their presence in Hagrid's class, much less his 6th-year one, was completely out-of-character. The man had thought a hippogryff appropriate as a first lesson for 3rd years, after all.

"That's right, Hermione," Hagrid said, eyes bright over his thick beard as he raised a finger. "But clabberts be interestin' more for what they can catch than what they are, yeh see? We're goin' teh be takin' 'em fer a walk down by the edge of the forest, see if we can spot anythin' they detect." That, Harry thought, was far closer to the norm. "But firs', let's be talkin' 'bout the problems of usin' a clabbert instead of yer own two eyes. Yeh all should know by now that they'll pick up on perfectly harmless Muggles... 'at's what kept 'em, somebody stacked the crates too close to the Muggle side of the dock, an' the Aurors had teh shut down the whole place while they looked fer the threat. But what else will they warn for that aren't dangerous? Yes, Hermione?"

"Ghosts."

A sharp nod. "Right yeh are. 'At's why we're tryin' teh keep 'em nice an' far from the castle here. They'll go into a blindin' frenzy fer our ghosts, which canna be hurtin' a fly. 'Cept Peeves, o' course, but he's just mischief, he is. They also go flashin' fer pixies, which're just high-spirited, an' centaurs an' goblins, which is so much codswallop. Whole wizardin' world trusts th' goblins with our money, and centaurs yeh jus' gotta be polite and let 'em be."

Nobody attempted to bring up the repetitive Goblin Rebellions droned on about in History of Magic. Hagrid had a better point than Binns had ever tried to make. Hagrid went on, "On the other hand, who can think of somethin' dangerous that clabberts _won't_ be flashin' fer?" Silence. Then, slowly, Neville's hand lifted.

"Dark wizards?" he asked.

"That's one. Very good." Hagrid shoved a thumb over his shoulder at the crates. "Dark wizard won't get a blink outta these guys. Won't get one fer a regular criminal, neither; not a thief or a murderer or anythin, 'long as they're wizards. An' they won't flash fer a werewolf neither, even at th' full with no Wolfsbane Potion. They're plenty human an' magical enough, see.

"So. 'At's the drawbacks o' just puttin' a clabbert in yer front tree an' goin' about yer business. Get yerself a harness an' leash outta th' pile there, an' let's be havin' ourselves a walk."

The class grabbed items as ordered, Harry wrinkling his nose at the stink of the leather straps, animal sweat and leather oil, then headed towards the crates in a straggly mass.

They never got there.

Fifteen feet away, a horrendous, monkey-like screeching blasted from the troupe. Wooden thumping and the scrabble of claws came from inside the crates, red light flickering between the slats. The class halted as one, clapping their hands over their ears, and Yukina in the foremost ranks stumbled back to almost trip over Hermione. Hiei promptly pulled his sister right back up and stepped in front of her.

"Hagrid!" Hermione yelled over the din. "Nothing I've read says anything about clabberts vocalizing! What's going on?"

"Somethin' in the Forest, most likely!" Hagrid bellowed back. "Who's got good eyes here?" Several hands went up. "Harry, I know yeh do. Yuusuke, Hiei, Yukina, Su, yeh and Harry try an' see if'n yeh can spot somethin' in the Forest. Don't be goin' near it, yeh just look from here, yeh hear me? Hermione, yeh an' I are gonna look fer Peeves or Myrtle, they's like as to go out and do this. The rest o' yeh, start movin' th' crates o'er by th' pumpkin patch!"

Harry couldn't help but glance at Genkai's students before peering into the empty Forest. Maybe the clabberts could sense Kurama on his closest friends...?

No. That was ridiculous. It must be Peeves, or something in the Forest. Perhaps a centaur.

Right?

TBC

A/N's -

- Erumpent: a magical beast similar to a rhinoceros

OMAKE:

As he read further north on the map, Kurama stretched to make out the labeling... then put a knee on the table to reach further. Then another. And soon he was crawling down the table on all fours, looking for the next labeled spot... and paused, a prickle in his neck reminding him that there were people watching.

"Any comments about my ass will get yours whipped," he announced.

"Then don't wiggle it," Hiei replied, sardonic and amused.

What?! "I'm NOT!" Kurama yelped.

He could almost see the smirk on Hiei's face, knew Hiei was stifling a snigger. "Then you've forgotten you don't have a tail to wag, stupid fox."

... oops.


	13. Pet Theory

Warnings, disclaimers, yadda yadda.

A/N's -

- Yuusuke's deteriorating language was due to me being a bit out of practice writing him. Oops.

- Some readers may notice that Blaise Zabini's characterization has changed drastically between BD and GO. Half-Blood Prince came out between the two fics, and I switched to the canon Blaise instead of the fanon Blaise(s). I like the canon Blaise better.

- I seem to recall I had Katie Bell in the year before the Weasley twins, not after as JKR revealed in HBP, and therefore she's graduated. That was written before HBP came out.

- You'll definitely want to read The Best Defense Sidefics prior to this chapter, if you haven't already.

- I've heard that is starting to strip even more punctuation markings, so I hope the formatting comes through okay.

-0-0-0

Ch. 13 - Pet Theory

Late in the second week, Hiei entered the library in the wake of a stream of Ravenclaw first- and second-years fresh from dinner. His damn cat was somewhere in here; he'd spotted her while he was inside a closet two stories below, using his Jagan eye. The beast had been twining around someone's ankles and a set of chair legs, visibly back in heat... it was past time to get that fixed, before Hiei had to put up with kittens.

He ducked out of the way of the doors, calling up a mental map and reorienting it to match his position. From the angle at which he'd seen Yuki, and the direction he'd been facing in the closet relative to the direction he was facing now, and the orientation of the bookcases near her... if the castle itself hadn't played with its own layout in the few minutes since he'd looked for her, she should be between the Defense and Restricted sections. Hiei headed in that direction.

There was an alcove back here, a table in a sunny spot: prime library real estate, and someone had already taken it over. The table was piled high with leather-bound books, most of them old enough to be in a state of decay despite preservation spells. A single person sat next to the window, bent over one of the largest books.

Hiei was entirely unsurprised that it was Hermione Granger, an extra quill jammed in her hair and a spot of ink streaked over her face. Her own pet, the too-intelligent, oversized ginger cat with the squashed face, sat curled next to her chair, completely ignoring Hiei's damn cat as Yuki chewed on a loose shoelace and tried to claw Hermione's shoe off.

"Granger," Hiei said, mostly so he wouldn't startle her into falling on him when he grabbed his cat. He got an absent mumble in reply, which didn't particularly let him believe she'd actually noticed him. Still, he bent and reached under her chair. "'Scuse me," he muttered, grabbing his cat from between her ankles.

Hermione squeaked.

The ugly cat (what was its name? Hiei couldn't recall) opened one yellow eye and yawned at him, breathing fish-breath in Hiei's face and showing a set of fangs that were quite impressive for a cat. Hiei paused, something occuring to him. Granger's cat was _male_, wasn't it? "Granger. Did your cat go anywhere with mine?"

"Go anywhere...?" she repeated. Hiei glanced up to meet her sharp, still-startled stare. "No, they've been right here since Crookshanks arrived. Why?"

Hiei finished gathering Yuki into his arms, ignoring her plaintive cry and the claws digging into his chest. "Because I'm taking her to get fixed, and I'd rather she not already have kittens."

Granger blinked, then reddened slightly. "_Oh."_

Crookshanks stood and stretched, stepped delicately past the chair leg and Hiei's head, and flopped onto Granger's feet, completely ignoring Yuki.

Hmmph. Smart cat. Hiei _really_ didn't want to put up with kittens. He straightened, gaze absently flicking over the pages of Granger's open book, eyes suddenly prickling...

His hand shot out, slamming the book closed and nearly catching the girl's fingers in it.

"_Hiei!"_ she yelped, automatically grabbing at the book.

He yanked it out of reach, pushing it behind him so she'd have to reach past his hip to get at it. Wards. The book was a volume of defensive magic, borderline Dark by this country's standards; that page had shown a particularly virulent set, one aimed specifically against elemental halfbreeds. Just the glimpse had stung.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" he gritted out.

She gave him a blank stare, fingers still twitching towards the book. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It _looks_," he growled, "like you're going against every assumption I made about you, and that show of Gryffindor moral idiocy in Genkai's test, and studying how to imprison demons." Hiei's eyes narrowed. He'd really thought different of the girl... but then, she was still human. So often as bad as demons, but hypocrites for claiming moral superiority. "What's the matter, Granger?" he asked, more quietly, leaning towards and over her. "Did the big bad demon last year frighten you?"

Her own eyes narrowed in response, and she ignored his attempt at intimidation to press forward, getting into Hiei's face. "The _big bad demon_, as you call it, showed me that demons are living, feeling beings who don't deserve to be tortured any more than we do!" Hiei raised an eyebrow at her vehemence. She wasn't serious, was she? Tortured? Deserve? 'Feeling being'? Where the hell had she gotten _that_ from Kurama scaring the shit out of nearly a quarter of the school? "He wasn't allowed to fight back, that was the deal he made with Professor Genkai, so what we did to him was horrible! I won't make that mistake again."

Wasn't allowed. So she'd caught that little detail. "That doesn't explain why you're studying how to make it worse," Hiei told her flatly.

"I'm trying," she hissed, one bitten-short nail tapping the cover of her book, "to find out how to block a demon without hurting it. Painless wards, or is that too outlandish a concept for you to understand?"

She _was_ serious. Hiei could've laughed. Did she somehow think an attacker, demon or not, deserved mercy? And what... no, she probably hadn't realized there was a reason wards hurt. "You're an _idiot_," he scoffed. "The pain is a side effect; it shows the ward is causing damage. No damage, no pain. Any demon worth the air it breathes can break through a ward that doesn't cause damage in a matter of minutes, unless the caster is considerably stronger than the demon." He offered her a sardonic flicker of a smirk. "And if the caster is that much stronger, he can just kill the demon and be done with it."

Hermione stared, mouth slightly open in shock, and Hiei realized he'd probably said too much. The girl was far too intelligent; she'd instantly realize he had considerable experience with wards, and then ask why...

"Teach me."

... or not. That wasn't the question he'd expected. "What?"

She turned pleading eyes on him. "You've explained more about wards than I've been able to discover in months of bookwork. Teach me."

"You can't be serious. I'm no teacher." Except that he was, wasn't he. The Patil twins, the weapons classes, Harry's private knife sessions, Kuwabara before the Dark Tournament... He dropped that argument as being a ridiculous lie. "Give me one good reason why, and not some humanitarian bull about not injuring your enemy."

Hermione thought for a long moment, then drew herself up imperiously. "Imagine what I could wind up with, if left to my own devices."

Hiei pictured a cobbled-together mess that exploded instead of trapped, and managed not to wince at the result. "Not convinced."

"I'll have to test my innovations in battle."

And if he was stuck in battle allied to her, which seemed entirely too likely... _dammit._

His cat yowled. Hiei glanced down instinctively, finding he'd squeezed too tight, and loosened his grip slightly. That was as much an answer as any. "Put all this crap away," he ordered, looking over the piles of books and plucking one slim volume out of the stack. "Keep this one, and go browse for mythology books. Try to focus on pantheons. I'll meet you in the common room in an hour." That would give him time to get the damn cat fixed, and start planning how to teach her without endangering himself, Yukina, and Kurama.

-0-0-0

_Captain of a team of yearlings and newbies_, Harry thought, as the team attempted to argue the merits of the hopeful players they'd seen tonight. _This does not bode well for the Cup_.

Ron still fumbled because of stage fright. Yuusuke was a decent Chaser, but had a tendency to try to hit the Bludgers (barehanded) instead of dodge. Andrew Kirke was pretty casual about the whole sport: good enough, but didn't show much interest in getting better. Harry himself wasn't able to see his own flaws, unless being a target for apparently every nutter in the wizarding world counted. And that was just the remaining team: half the slots were empty, both Beaters and a Chaser, so nobody would be used to flying with each other.

Harry really, really wished someone else could've been captain.

"Look, we only need one Chaser," Andrew said. "Your sister was the best flyer out there, got good aim and decent reflexes. Can you get over the fact that she's your baby sister so we can finish sometime tonight?"

"I still think Demelza Robins would fit better," Ron muttered stubbornly. "What the ruddy hell makes you think Robins should be a Beater anyway? She's too small!"

"She's fourteen." Andrew shrugged. "She'll grow into it."

"Kid's built like a brick," Yuusuke agreed. "Dunno what the hell she does to get that arm, but another year or two, she'll be a good Beater."

Another year's growth she didn't have yet, Harry thought. If they just had two Chaser slots open, it would at least stop the argument...

Wait.

Yuusuke kept trying to hit the ball. Robins and Ginny were both good Chaser material right now. All the team's Quidditch gear was right here, and the pitch was still free...

"Guys? I have an idea..."

One hour, a rough scrimmage, a round of shouting down Ron, and a quick rule check later, Harry leaned back against the locker, the complete team list in his hand.

_Seeker - Harry Potter (Captain)_

_Chaser - Demelza Robins_

_Ginny Weasley_

_Andrew Kirke_

_Beater - Yuusuke Urameshi_

_Jimmy Peake_

_Keeper - Ron Weasley_

So there had only been one change in positions, Harry mused, watching Yuusuke brandish his new Beater's bat. For a barely experienced team, maybe they'd do okay...

Yuusuke accidentally slammed the bat deep into a locker door, and laughed ruefully as the team went for their wands and started trying to pry the bat out.

... if they didn't get docked points for breaking the Bludgers, that is.

-0-0-0

"Perspective it is best painter's art," Hiei told the Fat Lady, getting a flutter of her fan and a giggle before the portrait swung open to allow him into the common room. He didn't want to know what the password was referencing to make her titter so.

A quick glance over the crowded, noisy room (somewhat calmer than last year, since the Weasley twins had graduated), and he spotted Hermione, staring hopefully towards the portrait door. He jerked his chin towards the stairs to the boys' dorms, and caught up with her halfway up the first flight.

An hour hadn't been quite enough to come up with a particularly detailed plan, but he'd gotten an outline of one that could be improved upon, as soon as he established a few points of interest.

"Why," he asked, as they spiraled up past the third-year dorm, "aren't you using your power to research wards?" She had a perfect-recall ability, even if it was limited to written items. Wards were written, so she should be able to just flip through the books and copy the relevant information at her leisure.

Hermione sighed. "I tried, actually," she answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The keywords kept... snagging, I guess you'd call it. I wound up half-conscious, with nearly twenty pages about things like headache potions, medical charms, and why Transfiguration doesn't hurt."

No ability to sift through the information, then. That made her power useless, given how much she read. "No shortcuts," he muttered to himself, factoring that into the lessons. Damn girl was taking a ton of courses as it was, so he would have to limit the work to the one-on-one sessions as much as possible and cut what little philosophy he knew. Which, fortunately, wasn't much anyway; he'd gotten one crash course after his Jagan, and a second in the middle of the Dark Tournament.

She smiled ruefully, bitterly, as he pushed open the door to his dorm. "No shortcuts," she agreed.

Hiei kicked a random desk chair over near the foot of his bed, pushed his curtains away from the bedposts, and turned to lean against the high footboard. "Wards are magical barriers designed to imprison or drive off other creatures," he began curtly, watching Hermione take the offered seat. "They are, for the most part, some of the most useless spells on the planet. As I've already said, to use a ward on a creature much weaker than you is a waste of power. To use one on a being stronger than you will get your power drained and yourself killed. To use one on a being near your own level becomes a waiting game.

"There are five kinds of wards. There is the type that you use your own power for, which are best used as an alarm perimeter when you're sleeping, ill, or otherwise distracted." Hiei laid a palm against the bedpost, triggering the hidden symbols to flare with dark violet light. "That's what these are. They'll hurt anybody except yourself.  
"Then there's a type that use another spirit or deity's power, and are only triggered by your own. That's what most of the ones in the books are. They need to be written in the right script, with the right name, and affect a much narrower range of beings: a sun god would only singe a shadow spirit, but severely burn a night demon." And a fire deity's name would feel like acid to an ice demoness. Hermione had lucked out in scrawling Hephaestus' name on Youko Kurama's hand; it was a large enough difference to actually hurt. "They're popular because they use something else's power, so you can hold stronger beings indefinitely, but their use relies heavily on the caster's ability to identify his opponent's abilities instantly and pick the right opposing spirit.

"Third are medical barriers. They're low-power and can painlessly block an opponent if you choose." The false nurse in the Dark Tournament hadn't bothered. "But they'll also heal him faster, and keep out attacks and disease that can get rid of him for you. Also, if you don't stay near the barrier to power it, it'll collapse." She could deduce the chances of surviving _that_ easily enough.

"Some beings... or nonphysical attacks and spells... can be held in place with a soporific ward." He was _not_ showing her the Kokuryuuha's wrappings. "They're just like any other form of tranquilizer, and need to be written or embroidered a certain number of times to control the dose.

"The last type of ward is a death sealing. It locks an opponent's power painlessly into his or her skin, if it doesn't obliterate it completely." That damned paint-demon had fortunately not been strong enough to do any damage to Kurama's power. "It also requires that you die to activate it," Hiei pretended not to see her teeth grit, biting back a question at that, "and against a strong enough opponent, is easily broken if it doesn't wear off on its own. You won't be using it." Hiei punctuated that with a glare, which Hermione met with a mulish set to her jaw.

Hiei did _not_ sigh before he continued, "Most wards in post-industrial society... that includes both of ours... are based in Sanskrit and Hebrew. I don't know Hebrew, so you'll be learning Sanskrit, _possibly_ bonji," though not if Hiei had anything to say about it; he'd only mentioned the Japanese script because it was what he'd used on his bed, "and whatever you're taught in Ancient Runes. I'll also attempt to teach you how to quickly identify an opponent's powers, and the names that cover the widest number of opposite abilities. I won't be teaching you painless _anything_, except the medical wards, because I don't have any idea how you'd keep a power from causing damage to its opposite. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"Do you still want to learn?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

-0-0-0

On Saturday, Harry managed to give Ron the slip (Hermione had darted off to the library after lunch, half a sandwich in one hand and an unusually slim book in the other), and found a lonely part of the castle between the dungeons and an outside door.

The Marauder's Map was probably not really meant to be used for things other than pranks, but... well, it was a terribly useful tool. Harry still remembered Hiei's words from the first Quidditch match last year, how Kurama had been avoiding him and the rest of the Gryffindors, walking a fine line of interHouse politics. Harry could at least attempt similar discretion, even for a demon.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he murmured, watching ink swell in spidery, geometric patterns across the parchment. His own dot flared in the center, the handwriting of his name not matching Moony's over the rest of the parchment. Odd, the things you noticed at random times; Harry's name had never matched the rest of the Map's lettering.

It _did_ resemble notes on the back of the pictures in his parents' photo album.

"Dad?" Harry whispered. The Map didn't so much as rustle, and Harry breathed a slightly shaky sigh of relief. He'd had enough of that rot with Riddle's diary in second year. "I'm looking for Minamino." The Map obligingly flipped a leaf over, showing the greenhouses.

Right. Definitely getting Hermione to check the Map thoroughly before the day was out. But it was showing him _Minamino, Kurama/Shuiichi_, in the greenhouses with Neville. Not a surprise. He probably should've just checked there first.

"Mischief managed," Harry said, tapping the Map and putting it away. He headed outside, gladly away from Slytherin territory, and into the light of a sunny, cool day. Circling the castle brought Harry to the greenhouse complex tucked up between the inner bailey and the curtain wall.

Greenhouse Nine was the outermost of the greenhouses, twice as tall as the rest, with glass panes that shimmered faintly red with locks, alarms, and structural spells to keep people from breaking the glass. Harry had no idea who was allowed inside other than Professor Sprout, but apparently Kurama and Neville had passes.

He rapped a knuckle against the misted panes of the greenhouse door, waving when the pair inside glanced up. One figure, which Harry could only recognize by his red hair, set aside a pot of something dark-colored and moving, and walked over to trip the locks.

A wave of muggy, bog-scented air rolled over Harry when the door opened. Kurama, hair damp and sticking to his dirt-streaked face, blinked in surprise at him. "Can I help you?" he asked, absently swatting back an overcurious, blue-black, thorny leaf.

"Well... it's kinda stupid, but yeah. Please."

Kurama glanced over his shoulder, shooing more vines from the doorway. "Can it wait?"

Harry shrugged. "You're the one who keeps trying to avoid Gryffindors."

"Just a second." Kurama leaned back in, shut the door most of the way, and told Neville to keep working. Then he slipped back outside and shut the door entirely. "Can we keep this quick? We're pretty close to the spitting Medusae."

Whatever that was. "The Clabberts the other day."

Kurama stared incredulously. "The _Clabberts?"_ he echoed. "What about... oh. I apologize."

"You didn't set them off."

"I di..."

"No," Harry interrupted. He was sure of that much. "I didn't see you in the Forest. I was looking and I didn't see you."

Kurama stared another moment, then started to chuckle. "Harry... I'm a silver fox spirit with plant magic."

Harry stared blankly. "So what?"

"So... if I don't want to be seen in a forest, or grasslands, or tundra, or anywhere foxes roam and plants or snow exists... I won't be." He glanced down at himself. "No matter what I look like."

Okay, Harry could understand the 'snow', if Kurama was Youko. But red hair should stand out like a flag in the Forbidden Forest. Harry was a Seeker, he lived to spot things.

"You don't believe me," Kurama said. Harry shook his head, and Kurama went on, "I'll show you sometime. Just not now." His gaze darted away from Harry's face, flicking towards the glass building. "I've got to get back before Neville gets bitten."

That gave Harry pause. He'd dismissed it the year before, and all but completely forgotten about it until now, but... Kurama was almost jittery. Impatient. _Concerned._ Over Neville Longbottom, who even some Gryffindors picked on.

It had been one thing when Harry had thought Kurama was just a weirdly nice Slytherin. Harry himself had barely avoided being put in Slytherin, and Harry figured he was a rather decent bloke, though he could probably stand to do his homework a little more often without Hermione shrieking the tower down. But Kurama...

... maybe Japanese demons weren't quite like British ones, or British ones got more bad press, except that Genkai had told stories about youko.

"Why Neville?" Harry asked abruptly.

Kurama's eyebrows shot upwards.

"You encourage him, you make him laugh, you almost seem _worried_ about him... _why?_ Nobody else does. Most people shove him out of the way, even Gryffindors. Why don't you? What are you getting out of him?"

Kurama stared, visibly aghast.

Harry's sudden curiosity twinged in his stomach, but he soldiered on. Gryffindor to the bone. "I mean... um... there's a reason you're in Slytherin..."

"But you didn't care what it was, until you linked that to my heritage," Kurama supplied, rubbing a hand tiredly through his hair. "Genkai did me no favors with her ghost stories. What am I getting, then." He peered out from under the palm of his hand. "You wouldn't believe the truth."

"Try me."

"Thought you'd say that." Kurama's hand dropped. "The truth, then. I recall I told you once that I'm a treasure hunter, specializing in the priceless."

Harry shrugged. "A master thief, but yeah."

Kurama quirked a grin. "Neville Longbottom... I think your phrase is 'a diamond in the rough', but it's nothing so crude. With a little attention and some confidence, his raw power could surpass mine; his expertise in lawful fields definitely will, since he has the high morals of your House, and the strength to stick to them." Kurama's eyes dropped. "I don't really know how else to explain it. Just that... I'm a thief, and he's a treasure."

Well, Kurama HAD said Harry wouldn't believe him.

Kurama rubbed a hand through his hair, shook his head, and re-entered the greenhouse.

-0-0-0

Hiei's fingers flicked at the tabs of Muggle-style folders in Genkai's filing cabinet. Each folder was stuffed with folded sheets of thick parchment, and they were organized according to the sensible Japanese kana order instead of the English alphabet. Or, in several cases, the closest semblence the name had to kana.

Harper, Hagrid, Baddock, Parkinson... Patil. Hiei pulled the twins' files and shut the cabinet. Then he headed back out into Genkai's tall meeting room, where another Saturday night Tantei meeting was taking place, and dropped the files on the table in front of Kuwabara.

Kuwabara looked up from the papers he was sorting, a befuddled look on his face. "What's this?"

"You're the psychic." Hiei turned a disdainful look on the oaf. "Earn your keep."

"_Why you..!"_

Genkai yanked Kuwabara off-balance and back into his seat with one hand, using the other to toss Hiei a stack of parchments to sort through. "Bait Kuwabara on your own time," she requested. "You two are the only ones who enjoy it anymore."

Hiei glanced at Yukina, who was stifling a tiny smile, then looked back at Genkai and raised an eyebrow.

"Except her," Genkai allowed grudgingly. "Now, why," she asked, as she turned the two files closer to read the labels, "are you trusting him with two of your students?"

Hiei distinctly heard someone snicker at Genkai's phrasing, and he turned a quelling glare on the entire room. Everybody else was looking away with deliberate, yet unconvincing, expressions of innocence, mouths twitching with amusement.

He snatched up his share of the 5th-years' test results and stalked over to his preferred seat on the windowsill.

"It may be," Kurama said lightly, when it became clear that Hiei had no intention of answering Genkai's question, "that he doesn't have time to handle the Patils."

"Shut up," Hiei grumbled.

Kurama, of course, didn't. "Likely because a certain overenthusiastic Gryffindor..." Kurama paused, mock-thoughtfully scratching his chin. "Hm, what is the term?"

The fox was obviously expecting Hiei to repeat himself. Hiei obliged. "Shut _up."_

"No, I'm fairly sure that's not it." Kurama thought a moment, then brightened, ignoring Hiei's death glare. "Ah, yes. _Bullied_ him into giving her private lessons."

A split second of silence followed that, abruptly shattered when both Yuusuke and Kuwabara burst into howls of laughter.

"A _girl_ bullied _Hiei_?" Botan breathed, every word emphasized with a different mix of disbelief and awe. "_Who?"_

"Granger," Hiei supplied, before Kurama could. He deliberately stared into the stack of 5th-year profiles he was (they were _all_) supposed to be sorting. "The Patils aren't likely to kill themselves experimenting. She is."

Yukina leaned forward curiously. "This late in her studies?"

Hiei shrugged. "She's trying something new," he answered, the biting note erased from his voice because it was Yukina asking. "The Patils don't care to, so Kuwabara can handle their antics. And this kid's, too," he added, flicking the top sheet in his stack to go flying towards the lout.

Kuwabara barely caught it, dismay comically twisting his face as he accidentally crushed the parchment in his grip.

"Oniisan, that wasn't nice." Despite the words, Yukina's eyes were bright with mirth. Nothing had really been damaged, after all.

Hiei silently handed her a new healer's profile, and that sparked a flurry of paper-trading, as all the sheets already sorted went to their proper tutors. Yuusuke and Hiei had the thickest stacks again this year, which they would both share with Kuwabara. This wasn't surprising: human populations tended to have high proportions of weapons and barehanded fighting, similar to how fox spirits (both kitsune and youko) tended towards illusions. Both species were about equal in percentages, though, with only one in every two or three people having core magic in those fields. Thirty to fifty percent. They were far more versatile than koorime or fire demons, who tended towards ninety-five percent or more in their own species' primary core magic type.

Yukina had the next thickest stack, healing being the second-largest primary class in almost every species, and the most common secondary talent across the board.

Botan wound up with a mixed set of fliers, four in all, every one a 5th-year on a Quidditch team. Ginny Weasley's profile, although she was a new Chaser, wasn't among them. Marked with a star in red ink, it sat in the middle of the large coffee table with several other profiles, two of which also held the same star.

Kurama turned one of the unmarked ones to read right-side-up. "Colin Creevy. Cameras. Unknown use." Hiei snorted. Big surprise.

"Derek Harper," Botan read from another sheet. "Puppetmaker. Potential for decoys, remote control."

Keiko picked up a starred one. "Luna Lovegood. Finds lost or hidden objects. Was uninterested in locating Voldemort, couldn't hold focus." Yuusuke hit his head on the table, groaning, as Keiko continued, "That explains a lot. Lovegood's dormmates always hide her things... I've offered to help find them, but she's never been concerned."

Yukina leaned in to take the next star-marked profile. "Eloise Midgen. Silver light, unknown effect. Schedule second check, cross-reference to complaints: Peeves, Moaning Myrtle."

Kurama twitched Weasley's profile out from under Genkai's hand. He lifted it, skimmed the first few lines, and his eyebrow raised. "An overlay?" he asked.

Hiei's gaze flicked sharply to them both, focused on the paper in Kurama's hand.

Genkai smirked, unamused. "Don't tell me you haven't seen it in however many centuries you've been bouncing around the Makai."

"Don't tell me you don't recognize it in Hiei and Keiko," Kurama answered smoothly. "I'm merely surprised that one didn't appear last year, in Potter or his accomplices." Glancing at Keiko, anticipating her question, he added, "They've had more than enough traumatic experience to twist their core magic."

But it wasn't long-term magical trauma, Hiei knew. A few hours wasn't enough to do anything magically, except with invasive surgery like the Jagan operation. Keiko had needed nearly a year of exposure to Yuusuke and Kuwabara, then concentrated enhancement over the course of two full months. Otherwise it would've taken fifty years or more from Hiei's initial attack with the stolen sword for her to even notice she had powers.

"What the hell," Hiei started, almost biting back the question once he realized he was saying it, "happened to the Weasley girl?"

He didn't give a damn. Really. He did, however, have considerable issue with the way Genkai's smirk was twisting towards amusement.

"Glad you asked," the old woman replied. "Ten months under the control of a Dark Artifact, in the form of a diary containing a memory of Voldemort, in her first year." Eleven years old. Dark Artifact. Ten months. And the school was still standing? "It left her core magic twisted to memory manifestation."

Memory manifestation... recreating the memories of someone and putting them in the physical world. Hiei frowned. "None of us will be able to teach her." Not unless they wanted secrets like the teargem dealer, Youko, Karasu, and the Jagan to come out.

Genkai put that promptly to rest. "She only seems able to manifest her own memories."

Mental-specialty core magic, plus that smirk, plus the girl's inability to reveal their secrets... "Hell. No," Hiei said. Absolutely not. "I'm not teaching her."

"Not yet," Genkai agreed, almost cheerfully. Wicked old woman. "She's flatly refusing to study. Not that I'm surprised; the diary nearly killed her, and several other students, when it tried to recreate the memory held in it. That's probably what forced her power to stay matched after they destroyed the diary."

Kurama finally let Genkai have the paper back. "She doesn't get a choice about learning. This is war."

Yuusuke growled, "Not yet it ain't. I say we bug the Lovegood girl til she spits out Moldywart's location, then go beat the shit outta him and dump him on Koenma."

"I'm working on it," Genkai said. "Bother the Weasley girl just in case. Hiei, you get to train her."

"I told you to do it yourself," Hiei grumbled, knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

It did. "You didn't specialize, you get the most work. Deal."

-0-0-0

Thursday afternoon, after Arithmancy, Draco had tutoring with Yukina. The room this year was larger, airier, with sunshine and a nice breeze spilling through open windows. The light shone off the globes they were working on; a cloudy white crystal for Draco, ice (of course) for Yukina.

She called it a control exercise. Draco called it bloody annoying, mostly because she kept calling him on it when he tried to get away with having tiny flat facets instead of a perfect curve. At least actually making this stuff was easy, whatever it was. It practically dripped out of the air into his hands.

... which was probably why he'd managed to cram so much down that monster's throat back in August, in that split second before Shizuru had killed it. He'd never asked what either the mineral or the monster was, but she'd grumbled something about nitrogen before lighting up a cigarette to replace the one she'd burnt out on the beast.

Draco managed to not shudder at the memory. He hoped he wouldn't be going back to Japan next summer. Though they wouldn't leave him running about unprotected after he reached his majority (right?), he really, really didn't want to go back there. Wild beasts running the streets; that horrid, dingy Muggle flat; old clothes, no doubt Kuwabara's, that were a size too large. Drunken demons snoring on battered furniture with pretensions of being a couch.

Ick. If Muggles lived that way, it was no wonder they weren't much better than animals.

Waitaminute.

Shizuru was a witch. To some extent, at least; she'd only done two spells that whole summer, with the Obon lanterns and the... whatever it was she'd done to the animal that had jumped Draco. But still, it was enough to prove she had _some_ magic power.

But that flat was all Muggle, and well lived-in.

"So, is Shizuru crazy, Muggleborn, or just living that way for the summer to keep me hidden better?"

Yukina's globe cracked in her hands. "Excuse me?"

"I spent the whole summer crammed into a Muggle flat barely larger than this room," Draco explained patiently. He could do patient. He lived with Crabbe and Goyle. "I have a right to know why."

She stared. Then, in the same patient tone, she said, "Draco... that's her _home._"

Crazy or Muggleborn, then. Or both.

Yukina seemed to read that in his face. She shifted, not quite sighing, and turned back to the ice in her hands. Turning it on its side, so the fracture (a deep split, more of a flaw than a crack, going halfway through the sphere) went from top to bottom, she began adding blobby details. "Have you ever heard of plate tectonics?" she inquired mildly.

"_What?" _Was that second term even a word?

"It's a recent theory I read about once. I think it was made in the 1960's? But it's not so much the theory itself that's important here, so much as it is the map made with it." Her palm spread a shape like an elephant's ear over the lower part of the sphere, near the fracture; light fingers sketched smaller bits above it: parts similar to squares, parts drooping like bananas, a part shaped oddly like a boot. "Do wizards have globes? Round maps of the Earth?"

So that's what the strange shapes were. Draco's father had a globe in his study. It was much more detailed than this quick approximation Yukina was doing; she wasn't putting in the Carribbean at all, and she'd only marked Indonesia with a quick press of four fingertips before marking Japan with the curve of her thumb.

She tapped in England with the tip of her little finger, then cupped the new globe in both hands and pressed. With a series of sharp pops, the globe fractured again, new flaws running crazily through the ice.

"Plate tectonics," Yukina said, turning the globe for Draco to see, "is a theory that the surface of the Earth is cracked. In simple terms, at least. The physical world gets earthquakes, volcanoes, uplifting, a lot of activity along those cracks. The metaphysical world gets very weak barriers between the human, demon, and spirit worlds, and a lot of cracks that demons can get through." She turned the globe, pointing out spots around the basin of her 'Pacific'. Deep cracks met under her fingers, three or four together shattering the ice around them to the point of being opaque.

"Japan," one of the shattered areas underlay the curve of the islands, "has the second weakest barrier in the world. So there's a relatively huge demon population. You probably saw at least a few; Shizuru's preferred butchershop is owned by one of them. Unfortunately, a lot... not all, not even a majority, but a very large percentage of all demons include humans in their diet. Some, like Shizuru's butcher, can eat other things instead." She paused. "Many can't. They come to the human world on purpose, preferring to risk getting caught and killed or arrested, rather than quietly starve to death. Those who do so prefer to eat humans with magic powers." Draco blanched, as Yukina calmly added, "Wizards are more filling."

She rolled the globe again, this time pointing out the small mark of Britain. No cracks came close to the island; the nearest were underwater. "Most of the world has a different problem. Muggles got scared of wizards, Muggles persecuted wizards, wizards withdrew into secret enclaves away from Muggles. Nothing was hunting wizards specifically for dinner."

Draco didn't want to understand where this was going. But he wasn't stupid. "But when they are..."

Yukina nodded. "Except for extremely powerful wizards, and those who are trained for the tourist trade, Japanese wizards hide among Muggles, living as them, masking and reserving their magic."

Draco gulped. "So... if I had used my wand," not that Shizuru had let him have it, "I could've been... _what sort of protection is that?!_"

"Well... I don't... it's the best we could give..." Yukina stammered.

Draco ignored her and stormed out, shoving past Nott further down the hall.

-0-0-0

TBC

A/N's -

- "Perspective it is best painter's art". Shakespearean sonnet.

- bonji. Japanese temple writing based in Sanskrit.

- Draco isn't crystallizing nitrogen. That would freeze his skin off. It's a nitrogen compound, hence why it's so easy to make; air's mostly nitrogen gas.


	14. Ugly Pictures

Warnings, disclaimers, boy I hope chapters will start getting easier to write.

A/N's -

- Hiei calls Hermione "Granger" and Ron "Ron" because he's stuck living with Ron, and he doesn't feel like bothering with the extra attention of ignoring that custom. /bs

-0-0-0-

Ch. 14 - Ugly Pictures

Leaning back in the hard wooden chair, Kurama wearily ran an ink-spotted hand through his hair and exhaled softly. The precise lines of his final essay gleamed wetly up at him, the letters stark in the light of his single, nearly-spent candle. Done. Finally.

He blotted the ink dry, rolling and tying the scroll neatly, then set it down with the others. All his classwork for the day, plus a note for Genkai. He'd much rather be spending the day in class, all told, but that wasn't going to happen. He could already feel the effects creeping in.

Standing, Kurama stretched, twisting to peer at the grandfather clock behind him in the empty Slytherin common room. The hands read _ridiculously late_ and _dead of night_, and he spared a moment to wish for a clock that would display actual numbers.

The clock's machinery ground sullenly into gear, and the hands racheted to nearly half past four. The lettering, however, didn't change, dim writing under the hands spelling out _too late to bother._

"Thank you," Kurama murmured. The clock creaked, a muffled gong echoing softly in the room. He would have smiled, had it been any other day. The wizarding world was just so _different_ from the Makai and Muggle worlds, so many small details that teased at what little he remembered of being a child.

And so many that were entirely the opposite.

Kurama frowned, gazing blindly towards the windows under the lake's cove as he remembered the argument with Harry just last week. He'd not been paying much attention then, but the suspicion was all too clear in his memory... All that damned human prejudice spewing from Harry, of all people. He'd somewhat _liked_ the boy, for all that he'd avoided him due to House rivalries, and taken a bit too much amusement in baiting Harry under the guise of Youko. Granted, with that, it only made sense that the Brat-Who-Lived would get worried after accepting the additional 'demon' label. It was even good that Neville had people taking an interest, even if it was late in coming.

Still, Harry's suspicion had stung. Still stung, really, if Kurama felt like being honest.

A tendril of panic coiled around his stomach at the thought. He couldn't afford that much honesty today.

So Kurama shook such notions out of his head, scooped up his homework scrolls, and set off to deliver them to their respective professors.

Hurt. By a human kid. Ridiculous.

It was just the stupid equinox.

-0-0-0

_Harry couldn't find the room's door._

_He had been prowling the room with the silver-framed paintings for what seemed like hours now. His bare feet had long since gone numb from the cold stone underfoot; his fingers were sore from prodding at the rough masonry of the walls. The wandless Lumos spell wouldn't budge from the center of the ceiling, and it was fortunate there didn't seem to be anything nasty hiding in the shadowy nooks and crannies of the room._

_By this point, he was ready to risk messing with the paintings: random land- and cityscapes, one blank, of a wide variety of sizes and shapes. All except the blank one gave occasional glimpses of Death Eaters in the background. The chance that any were Portkeys..._

_Well, Harry had never heard of a Portkey that showed its destination. Not that it was much comfort. There was a lot he still hadn't heard of in the wizarding world._

_Biting his lip, Harry reached up to nudge at the blank painting._

Harry woke with his hand numb, the memory of sizzling magic ringing in his ears and down his spine. He squinted blearily through the dark, only belatedly realizing that it was stupid to try to see anything right now, and groped for the numb hand with his free one.

The numbed skin was cool to the touch, almost puffy, and started to prickle after a moment under his fingertips.

"Ow?" he muttered.

He would never have noticed the soft rustling in the background had it not abruptly stopped at his voice. Harry blinked.

"Who's there?"

No response. The prickling soared swiftly into full-blown pins-and-needles, and Harry bit his lip. His hand curled around the injured one, checking for odd welts: he'd been bitten by spiders often enough in the cupboard, a magical one might've gotten in...

Or something else.

So even though he didn't feel anything, no lumps or trickling wetness, and the flesh was starting to feel normal instead of puffy, Harry carefully pictured a snake and tried again. It was worth a shot, anyway.

_"Who's there?"_ he hissed in Parseltongue.

Still nothing.

Harry fumbled for his glasses and wand, murmured a soft "_Lumos_", and poked his head out of the curtains at the foot of his bed. He scanned the room carefully, from the shadows under the unlit coal burner to the dirty socks under the window.

Nothing. Neville's bedcurtains swayed slightly in the night breeze, that was all.

He was paranoid. The noise must've been somebody rolling around in their sleep, and his hand felt fine now. He'd probably slept on it wrong. Shaking his head, Harry pulled his glasses off once more and flopped back into his bed. There was still enough time to get a bit more sleep before he had Madame Pomfrey check him. Just in case.

-0-0-0

Several stories below the Gryffindor boys' windows, Kurama crouched on the ridgepole of the castle roof, back braced against the tower wall as he panted. He hadn't dared breathe after Harry's voice had shocked a good year's growth out of him, even as he crept back out the window. Tense muscles and a pounding heart had eaten away at his oxygen, setting his lungs to burning with the need for air.

What on earth had woken the boy? It certainly hadn't been Kurama, not as good as he was at silence. The faint crinkling of parchment, the near-imperceptible fall of a slippered foot on bare wood, an eighth pattern of breathing added to the seven already in the room... none of it should've woken any of them. Except maybe Hiei, but not on this night, not unless Kurama had broken the barriers on Hiei's curtains.

All this for a few scrolls of homework. Though, to tell the truth, it hadn't been until Kurama was reaching for Hiei's bed that he'd realized: he probably shouldn't be in the Gryffindor dorm until after the students left for breakfast. Stealing Hiei and Neville's homework to deliver it to the right professors, thus retracing his earlier steps and wasting time, had been done on impulse.

Granted, it was a better idea than the short-lived notion of waking somebody (not Harry, not when Kurama was upset... er, when _Harry_ was annoyed with him over Neville) to help prevent him from being discovered instead. Sure, Kurama would be safely hidden under Hiei's blankets right now, instead of doing stupid things to distract himself from the near-blinding despair radiating from his intrinsic magic. But then he would have to acknowledge that somebody knew.

It was one thing to admit vulnerability in himself. It was something else entirely... on a level where 'something else' meant 'justified in having his head lopped off'... to tell about Hiei's or Neville's. There was just a certain _etiquette _to these matters.

And dwelling on manners and Hiei's bed was not distracting him from the ache of falling leaves in the forest. Moving, however, would.

The slightest shift of his weight sent Kurama skidding, soles kicking up grit, down the shingled roof. He kicked himself away a finger's width from the gutter, stomach surging weightlessly towards his lungs in the instants before he landed atop a lower roof. Withered vines crumbled under his toe, dry and frostbitten and dead to his magic, but he managed not to flinch as he swung under the eaves and dropped lightly onto a windowsill.

The window wasn't even _locked_, Kurama noticed. He automatically avoided the frosty glass, the wooden sash worn smooth under his fingertips, as he slipped into an old storage room. Dust covers made pale, lumpy shadows of everything. Kurama edged past them with less care than he would have taken had the covers been necessary; not a trace of dust lay on either them or the floor to show his footprints.

Once in the hallway, passage was both more and less difficult than his previous trip. The sky was starting to pale in the east, sunrise and the end of student curfew approaching fast.

He couldn't afford to get caught, not if he wanted to claim illness later. But the encroaching light gave him that much more to focus on outside of his magic. The first flash of sun stabbing through a piece of red glass: one of the few stained-glass windows in the castle, Helga herself in a rose garden. How easy it was to take a ridiculously complicated route through the castle; how one staircase, when he backed down it to avoid an early-rising Ravenclaw, let him out in an entirely different wing. The intricate, deep carvings of an archway, as he clung to a shadowy upper corner of it and waited for a group of Hufflepuffs to wander past.

Humans never looked up. Callous, mindblind brats, oblivious to everything, to the painful surge of magic, how dare they be... but no. No, these were just weapons students, common as dirt and almost as useful. They _should_ be oblivious, just like Yuusuke and Kuwabara were.

He slid to the floor in the wake of their passage, darted past the DADA classroom and down a staircase, and found McGonagall's office on the left. His vines, hidden in a nook above the door, hadn't budged. He added Hiei's and Neville's scrolls to his own, cocooned in the vines, and left them primed to slip in under the lintel when the door opened.

It was too late to try to reach Snape's office by now. The dungeons had almost no cover to speak of, what with low ceilings, tapestry-covered flat walls, and sharp-eyed, wary Slytherins about.

Kurama slipped into the shadowy alcove behind a large statue, within earshot of the moving staircases, and settled in to eavesdrop and wait for breakfast to start.

-0-0-0

Hiei's eyelids felt like lead when he dragged them open, his fingers twitching with equal exhaustion. Something had woken him. He'd long since gotten used to the pandemonium several teenage boys could produce first thing in the morning, so what had...?

"I said _go away_!"

There. The break in Neville's voice. Though it wasn't his voice that had woken Hiei; it was the absence of something related to it. Kurama should've been here by now, even if only for his student, but Hiei's bed was unaccountably empty and the dorm filled only with human boy-scent. Where was Kurama?

"Neville," Dean said reasonably, "if you're sick, you should go to the Infirmary. We can hardly tell McGonagall if you don't."

Clothing rustled as Ron, half-muffled, added, "Yeah. You can go with Harry." His voice became clear, as if he'd finished pulling a shirt on. "He's off for a quick check before breakfast anyway."

Something thumped, somebody kicking the base of a bedpost. If it was Neville's, Kurama would throw a fit. "You'll feel better with breakfast in you, at least," Seamus said.

"_Merlin_, no _breakfast_..." Neville moaned.

Hiei snorted. "Bugger off, you idiots," he grumbled, not bothering to open his bedcurtains. "He's old enough to decide for himself." This was Kurama's goddamn job, where the hell was the fox?

Harry choked out a cynical laugh. "Tell that to McGonagall."

"Tell her yourself," Hiei snapped, not as sharply as he'd have liked. His voice felt and sounded thick with sleep. "I'm..." _sick too_ "... not going to classes."

A moment's silence. Then, "We've got _Potions_," Harry said slowly.

Way to state the obvious. Hiei yanked the blankets over his head, ignoring the noise resulting from that pronouncement. Even Neville chimed in, not that Hiei was bothering to interpret any of the cacophony. He waited for it to die down, then pulled the blankets away from his lower face. "I've got something more important to do."

More noise. Hiei waited this out too, until somebody batted aside his bedcurtains and tore the covers off him.

Kuwabara. Hiei bared his teeth, hands curling into claws. Suicidal _idiot._

"Damn... you look like shit," Kuwabara breathed, ignoring the cracking sizzle of enspelled cloth against the stump of his rei sword. Their eyes met, and Kuwabara flinched, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ow. Fuck. Yeah. These guys are so not going to classes."

The oaf. Was going. To die. _Painfully._

Kuwabara draped the blanket back over Hiei, held up his hands in a concilatory gesture, then stepped back and let the curtains fall into place. The wards reactivated, the hum of their protective magic blunting the edge of Hiei's offense.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to let Hiei sink back down into the mattress, tense and wary and almost too drained to remain so. Kuwabara wasn't a threat, as sickening as it was to put up with all that honor and chivalry crap. So no matter what the idiot did, it wasn't enough to spark the desperation that could get Hiei moving today. Although displaying his lethargy for the whole room to see... that was pushing it.

Still seething, Hiei ground his teeth and waited for the room to clear out. It didn't take very long: whatever Kuwabara had sensed made him hurry the rest of their dormmates along. Soon, the door slammed shut on a room empty of everyone except Hiei.

And Neville. Whose breath, now that Hiei could hear it properly, was shaky and too quick. A risky pattern, but since Hiei wasn't planning on getting up, much less harassing the upset boy, perfectly safe. Hiei felt the rest of the tension drain from his body, and the red-tinted darkness behind his curtains seemed to warm.

He was safe.

Safe...

Some time later, Hiei jerked back out of a half-doze, nostrils flaring. Cool air trickled past his curtains, tinged with the scents of wood smoke, decaying leaves, and almost-fox. Then a floorboard creaked, faint and deliberate. That would be Kurama, making sure Hiei was awake and aware. Even softer, cloth rustled; Neville's breathing stuttered, choked off and held.

"I've not done too right by you, have I, Neville?" Kurama murmured. Hiei frowned, not sure what was wrong about Kurama's tone as Neville answered.

"You're _not _fine," Kurama replied, voice even, warm, tightly controlled. Too tightly. "_I'm_ not fine," he added, and that was enough to shock Hiei's own breath to a halt. "Sheer bloody-minded stubbornness, and years of knowing what to expect, is all that's keeping me upright at the moment. I fully intend to hide in bed too until the day's over, now that everybody's out of the way."

A pause, then Neville's mattress creaked. "Shh..." Kurama murmured. Neville's breath caught and shuddered.

_I shouldn't be listening to this_, Hiei thought, ludicrously.

"It'll be okay," Kurama added. "Are you sure you don't want that sedative?" Another pause. "All right, then. We'll save it for Halloween."

Halloween. Kurama's most vulnerable time. Most dangerous, too: Koorime and Hiei went into dormant states at their respective low points, unless roused to violence. Kurama had been conscious and controlled last year, at least up until nightfall, but the murderous rage, the lashing out against any percieved threat... that had to be the same. And he'd just admitted he was going to spend the entire day drugged to insensibility, while within earshot of a demon as strong as he was?

_I REALLY shouldn't be listening to this!_

A few more quiet murmurs, that Hiei was Not Listening To, and then the mattress creaked again. Footsteps approached Hiei's bed, so he dropped the wards before Kurama burned himself on them. The curtains parted, sun making Hiei narrow his eyes reflexively.

"May I?" Kurama asked. When Hiei grunted, rolling out of the way, Kurama toed off his shoes and sank into the bed with a relieved sigh. "Thanks."

"Hn." Stupid fox. Hiei flopped an arm over Kurama's waist, pulling until there was enough room in the narrow bed for them both. "Th' hell was that?" he mumbled.

"I'm not sure." A shrug pressed Kurama's shoulderblades against Hiei's ribs. "Something I learned from Kaasan."

That hadn't been what Hiei meant. He'd been asking about Kurama discussing plans to be drugged while in earshot... but if Kurama was going to play it like this, fine. He wasn't sure he wanted an honest answer anyway. "It's creepy," Hiei muttered. Which was entirely true. Watching Kurama be nice, without any hint of ulterior motive, was disturbing.

"I'll be an amused Slytherin bastard later," Kurama replied, managing something closer to his usual tones, "just for you."

Hiei closed his eyes, managing not to exhale with any sign of relief. "Much better."

-0-0-0

Harry was going to kill Hiei. Top of the list, right after Voldemort and that damn rat Wormtail, and right before...

He abruptly recalled Youko's face, the faintest of smirks and a "sayonara" on his lips, in the split second before the Forest's canopy rained blood.

... okay, not Kurama. But they were both in so much trouble. Why couldn't they have picked Tuesday, or Friday, or basically any day except Monday to not show up for class?

Slowly, Harry raised his eyes to meet his professor's. Snape's black glower lingered for a long moment, then passed on to each student in turn, before stopping on the two empty spots.

"We seem," Snape's voice fell heavily, quellingly, on Harry's ears, "to be missing some students."

Silence. Harry dared a glance at the rest of the class; even Malfoy seemed paler than usual, though that was likely a trick of the light. Or perhaps not, since Kurama was the one Slytherin Snape didn't seem to like.

(Harry had a sudden wild thought: was that because Snape knew Kurama was a demon?

... no. No, if Snape knew, he would've "accidentally" let the rest of the school know, to get Genkai and her students sent packing.)

Ron cleared his throat. "Jaganshi's sick, Professor."

Snape's eyebrow twitched. "Indeed." It wasn't a question. "He can be located in the Infirmary, then."

Harry winced, and more felt than saw Hermione and Ron do the same.

"Er, no," Ron mumbled.

"Then, clearly, he is. Not. Sick." Snape slammed both hands on the table in front of Ron. "Are you aware of the punishment for skipping classes, Mr. Weasley?"

Harry's mind went blank. He had no idea. He'd never heard of somebody skipping, though Hermione had fallen asleep and missed Charms once. But that was Flitwick, and all the teachers had known about the Time-Turner that year...

Before Ron could answer, Keiko's voice rang out, too loud and shrill.

"Did you not get Professor Genkai's note?" Snape whirled on the girl, staring straight ahead and not meeting his eyes. "...Sir." she added as an afterthought.

Snape stalked to her table, robes billowing and eyes flashing.

Keiko gulped. "She should've sent a note. Sir. For Hiei... and Kurama."

Harry held his breath. Keiko had to be lying; Hiei would've told them to shut up and quit worrying, that a professor was dealing with his absence, had that been true.

Evidently, Snape didn't believe it either. "How... _convenient_," he sneered.

Keiko's gaze flicked away as the professor moved to meet it. "Sir?" Keiko asked. "The lesson?"

Another long moment, Snape staring the Ravenclaw girl down, then he spun away to the board with a snarl.

After that came Transfiguration, where the conversation with the professor repeated itself, albeit much more pleasantly. Harry had harbored some hope that Neville would feel better after a bit of a lie-in, and actually make it to class, but he failed to appear.

Then, since Harry and Ron hadn't been quick enough to spot the all-too-familiar gleam in Hermione's eye, they didn't realize she was steering them to the kitchens... until she got them into the wrong corridor and charmed the hallway behind them to be impassable.

The afternoon went downhill from there.

At least Hermione let them get a picnic basket overflowing with food, and even eat a full sandwich each, before she announced, "I've realized what's wrong with Neville."

Harry blinked, staring at her past his half-eaten apple, then swallowed his bite. "Er, we already told you. He's sick."

"But I know _why_," Hermione persisted. "It's not an ordinary cold or anything. Kurama's missing too! I'm right, I know it... it's just like last May!" Ron made a soft sound, but Hermione ignored it. "The day Hiei got me to fetch Neville out of Divination, it was because Kurama was sick. He put Neville to work and that helped Kurama..." She stopped short. "Except that doesn't explain why Hiei's sick too. You did say Hiei was sick, right? Because he was fine last May..."

Ron shifted on the stone windowsill they'd picked to have lunch on. "Um, I didn't see. Kuwabara said he was."

Except that was wrong. "No," Harry quickly filled in, "Kuwabara said he looked like hell and wasn't going to classes. And Hiei said he had something more important to do."

"So he's NOT sick!" Hermione crowed. "He's helping Neville! And that's got to be where Kurama is too, because it's like their powers are tied somehow. That's why Neville had to use his magic to help when Kurama was sick, so Kurama's using his magic to help because Neville's sick..." For the second time in as many minutes, she trailed off. "Um. Oh dear."

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"Um. When Kurama was sick, he, er..." Hermione inexplicably blushed. "Ohhh dear. This isn't good."

Kurama was a demon, Harry thought. Had Hermione seen...? "What? What's not good?"

Hermione tugged at a lock of hair. "He. Er. Kind of..."

"What?"

Her next words came almost too fast to pick out. "Tackled Hiei and I'm not sure what he was about to do but Hiei said something about consent and he just _froze_..."

Ron's expression twisted to match Hermione's. "Hermione?" he asked slowly. "Tackled him how?"

"You know, tackled him! In a way that required shoving Kurama back off onto the ground. Why?"

"Because..." Ron took a deep breath, then shamefully said, "I wasn't supposed to ever mention it. But the reason Kurama told me about side effects? Was because I found Hiei in the bathroom one morning looking like he'd gone ten rounds with a hippogryff."

Or, Harry thought, a demon with nails like claws? Youko had trailed one down his cheek while trying to scare the shit out of him during Genkai's test.

Ron finished, "And that was last May."

Hermione paled. "Oh my god."

May. Harry had met Youko in April. He'd broken Kurama's potion in June. Kurama could turn into Youko in May.

Harry barely heard Ron add, "He said... he said something about not leaving Kurama in pain."

"Because Kurama was sick," Hermione murmured. "And now _Neville's_ sick..."

Harry dropped his apple and bolted for Gryffindor Tower. Dimly, he heard Ron's half-panicked shout of "_Mobiliqualus!_", and the pounding footsteps of Ron and Hermione in his wake.

"Harry! _Harry! Wait up!_"

He didn't understand. Kurama had told him he wouldn't understand, but he hadn't said a word about connected magics. Just about treasures and guarding and raw power...

Things were adding up to something very, very ugly in Harry's head.

He nearly crashed into the Fat Lady's portrait, Ron and Hermione and the floating picnic basket knocking him off-balance. He caught himself on the frame, panting out an apology to the appalled Lady.

"Per..." Hermione gasped, "Perspective it is best painter's art!"

The portrait swung open, tsking as they stumbled through the hole into the common room. They spared barely a glance for the room, only enough to see it was deserted, before tearing up the stairs.

The dorm was just as Harry had left it this morning. Sunny. Intact. Quiet. Hiei's curtains were closed; Neville's only mostly so. And the mound of blankets behind the half-shut curtains was moving, a face peering out.

Neville looked _miserable._ Though that was a lot better than missing, or injured, or having some sort of knock-down no-holds-barred fight. As much as Harry couldn't really imagine that last one.

He abruptly realized that he... and Hermione and Ron, and a _picnic basket_ of all things... had just crashed into the room like Death Eaters were on their tail. It seemed pretty ridiculous, in retrospect.

"Neville. Um." Hermione, fortunately, filled the awkward silence. "How are you feeling?"

A blink. "I've been better," Neville replied, bewildered.

"We brought food," Ron said, rallying. "If you're up to it."

Food. Brilliant, Harry thought. He glanced at the basket. They'd barely made a dent in what the elves had put in, so... "There's enough for Hiei and Kurama," he said. "You know. If they're around."

Neville pushed himself partway up, trying and failing to offer a lighter expression. "They were sleeping," he said, jerking his head towards Hiei's bed. "Probably not anymore, though."

"Sleeping?" Hermione echoed, stepping curiously towards Hiei's bed. Her head tipped up, as if she thought she could see in if she just found the right angle. "They're not helping you?"

"_Helping_?" Neville echoed, incredulous. "They're as bad off as me."

Kurama's voice floated out from behind the curtains. "Neville," he said, warningly.

"Guess I'm not supposed to say that," the sick boy muttered. He glanced up, caught Harry's eye. "Slytherin paranoia, you know? Don't show weakness..."

"_Neville,_" Kurama repeated.

Neville's face fell. "Sorry."

Hermione took another step towards Hiei's bed. "So wait," she murmured, gaze flicking from the closed curtains to Neville's face. "_They're_ sick, _and_ you're sick, and it's all the same 'weakness'..."

Kurama interrupted. "Please don't finish that thought, Miss Granger."

"But..." She took another step forward, reaching out for the bed.

"_Please_," Kurama repeated. "And don't touch the curtains, either, they'll burn."

She froze. Paused. Frowned. "Isn't that dangerous? The bed's not that big."

_Why am I surprised that was her first question?_ Harry thought.

A weary sigh. "We're both quite used to it."

"Uh..." Ron cleared his throat. "Isn't that a bit... er..."

"Customary," Kurama finished.

"Oh."

That sounded extremely fishy to Harry, especially the way Hermione was glancing at Neville's blatantly unprotected bed, and the boy curled miserably in it. Alone. He leaned in close, whispering, "Did they even offer to put protections up for you?"

"'S a Slytherin thing," Neville mumbled. "Or a Japanese one. Something. 'M fine."

Slytherin, Japanese... or...

Kuwabara had opened them just fine that morning.

Kurama's 'custom' suddenly sounded much more a demon one than a human one. Custom meant it happened more than rarely. Custom meant it happened a _lot_. Demon custom, for demon weakness, which Neville was sharing... no. Was being affected by.

Back to the ugly picture in Harry's mind.

-0-0-0

_Dear Prof. Remus,_

_I'm afraid this isn't going to be an easy letter for you, but I need some advice. The situation is... complicated, and I can't say too much because then you'd know who I'm talking about and that's not fair. In fact, I can barely say anything, but he's got a secret that's sort of like yours, and I found out by accident._

_Well. Sort of by accident. In the sense that I snuck out after him one night and nearly got us killed, except that he killed the thing that I think would've eaten us. Or broken the gates to let YKW in, I'm not sure. It was really a mess._

_The problem is that he's a... I can't say that, it'll identify him. He did threaten me once, but I didn't know it was him at the time, and I think he was trying to provoke me instead of seriously meaning it. He could've just knocked me out if he'd meant it, or taken my head off when I hurt him, but he didn't._

_But I can't be sure. He... I can't say that either, the Aurors will tear the school apart and the git's fine. The problem is that something he's doing, something that's because of what (not who) he is, it's affecting someone I know. Badly. Someone who is a good guy and doesn't deserve what I saw. But whatever it was, it was hurting him too. _

_I don't know if I should tell Ron and Hermione, is what I need advice on. I wouldn't out him to the entire school, not like that bastard Snape did to you, and I know... we know we can trust Ron and Hermione. Ron blurts things out but not secrets, no matter what. But it's not my secret to tell, except that I'm the one keeping it. And then the friend who's being affected, I'd want to tell him, but I'm really worried about how the guy with the secret would take it. He seems to genuinely like my friend, but he also seemed to genuinely be nice and friendly but he gutted an attacking... thing without even blinking!_

_It's not really fair of me to say that, though, is it. I think I killed Quirrell. The man screamed when I grabbed him and I didn't let go. I only realized that a couple of weeks ago, that it wasn't YKW who did it. And you would've killed Wormtail. So it's different, somehow, since it's... I don't know._

_Everybody would hate him if they knew. Except Hermione, she'd probably grab a stack of books and a lot of parchment and pounce him with questions. I'm not asking because of his secret, just that I'm not sure he's... er, I'm pretty sure he's on our side somehow, but I'm not sure he's a good guy. Whatever he's doing to my friend made them miserable, like Dementors were in their beds._

_I want to warn Ron and Hermione, and my friend. But I don't know if I should._

_- Harry_

TBC


	15. Calling Divs

Warnings, disclaimers, so on and so forth; we all know the drill by now.

A/N's -

- Keiko is indeed in Ravenclaw House and Gryffindor NEWT-level Potions. I decided that NEWT-level (6th and 7th year) classes are all-House, because students drop courses after OWLs and the class sizes get reaaaally small. For example, had Potions stayed only Gryffindor/Slytherin, there'd be all of seven students.

- thanks go to LV for Remus' letter

-0-0-0

Ch. 15 - Calling Divs

Harry spent the next several days waiting for Remus and Sirius to respond to his letter, and trying to keep a discreet eye on Neville and Kurama. This was easier said than done, as Kurama seemed to have taken to rambling all over the grounds. All too often, just when Harry thought he'd managed to be sneaky enough, he'd catch a green-eyed gaze fixed coolly on him, within an almost quizzical, challenging expression.

Then Kurama would go back to whatever weed he'd brought Neville to see that day, seeming to dismiss Harry's presence. But when Harry slunk off to rethink a new approach, he'd feel that same stare boring into his back until he was out of sight.

He was trying not to think about the unnerving possibilities Monday had brought. They started out with using Neville as some sort of extra power source, and got worse from there. It didn't _fit_ with the Kurama Harry had met in Diagon Alley, over a year ago, or the one who teased Hiei as mercilessly as only a best friend could, or sent messages of support for the Gryffindor team on game day.

It didn't fit with holding the loyalty and friendship of someone like Yuusuke, who knew full well what Kurama was and could do.

But what else could it all possibly _mean?_

Harry sighed, staring out the open window of the common room, watching the sky. Still no snowy owl. He really wanted that letter back from Sirius. (Remus would have to share the letter, really. Sirius had probably read it over his shoulder, or grabbed the mail first anyway.) It was so _odd_, having an adult who'd offer more than a cryptic sentence and a sherbet lemon.

A scuffle drew Harry's attention away from the sky, back into the common room.

"Hey, give that back!" Colin shouted, scrambling after a trio of second-years. One tossed a camera to the shortest of the three: Dennis Creevy, still dwarfed by most of the students in the school. Dennis waved it at his brother, then yelped and ducked under a table, passing the camera to another accomplice.

It was rather like seeing the twins hassle Percy and Ron, back when Percy had been in school. Just like the Weasleys, nobody was going for their wands.

Colin leapt over a couch, narrowly missing the current camera-thief. "You are so dead when I get my hands on you! I've got homework!"

"Homework! Homework!" the kid mocked, snapping a shot of Colin off.

Harry chuckled, too late realizing he'd caught Colin's attention with that.

"A little _help _here, Harry!" Colin snapped, for once too distracted to be worshipful.

"Okay, okay..." Harry said, standing up. But it was too late. Dennis tripped over a fold in the rug, and knocked into the table in front of the fireplace. It toppled over, sending photographs flying.

One slid over the firescreen, balancing on the narrow top for an all-too-short moment before drifting into the fire.

"No!" Colin yelped, as the top of the picture... a full view of Hogwarts... caught fire. Harry grabbed his wand as a girl (who'd been standing near a window) shrieked on the far side of the room.

"_Accio photograph_!" The picture came sailing out of the fireplace. Harry caught it by the bottom edge and slapped it on the floor.

"_Fire!_" the girl yelled._ "The North Tower's on..._" Harry stamped out the burning picture. "...fire?" she finished. Her next words were completely bewildered. "It's out."

Harry paused, staring at Colin's photograph. The burned edge cut across the Divination classroom, at the top of... "The north tower," he murmured. He glanced at the tiny group gathering across the room, at a window with a view of the Divination classroom. Dennis and his two friends were dancing at the back of the crowd, jumping and pushing to try to see. Colin, however, was kneeling next to Harry, arms loaded with snapshots.

Colin met his gaze sheepishly. "Um..."

"What," Harry asked evenly, "core magic do you have?"

The answer was completely unsurprising.

-0-0-0

Kurama had allowed a couple of days to pass since the fire surrounding the North Tower; long enough that spooked and curious students alike had drifted off into other little dramas, so no one would see him climbing the winding stairs upwards. He didn't need more people's eyes on him. Right now, Harry was more than enough to make a demon paranoid.

He'd heard about the empty landing at the top of the tower, the ladder enspelled to thump down mere centimeters from a student's head, so he didn't jump when it hit the floor behind him. He did, however, spare a moment to make a face, allowing his quarry's wispy voice to float down from the room above.

"Come, child."

The Divination classroom, Kurama noticed upon climbing in, was just half the tower floor. Granted, it was difficult to tell past all the overstuffed ottomans, little tables, drapery, and paraphernalia... but he had an eye for exits, and there was most definitely an archway behind the china cabinet, all but hidden by a thick, tasseled-and-beaded curtain. He would bet that the archway led into the Professor's living quarters.

The Professor herself was almost indiscernible from the chair she sat in, her thin shape lost in shawls, hair barely tamed under a kerchief. She beckoned Kurama to the footstool across the table from her, and Kurama took a seat.

"My poor child." She leaned over the table, patting Kurama's hand consolingly. "To already know your dire fate. How long has it been since you realized you're to be murdered?"

Kurama barely refrained from choking on his laugh. "I've always rather thought so, actually," he replied. Mostly, at this point, since it had already happened. (And come to think of it, hadn't she picked up on Hiei...? Maybe she had just enough ability to be dangerous.) "But I don't have the Sight, ma'am."

Trelawney gave him a crestfallen look.

"I do know that you can't change my fate," Kurama added. "It must be a terrible burden to know, and I'm sorry for inflicting myself upon you. But I was wondering if you could help me with another problem..."

Her eyes, huge behind the thick lenses, lit up. "Surely a fine young man such as yourself doesn't _need _any assistance with his love life!"

"Indeed I don't," Kurama agreed. Then again, maybe she didn't have any real power. That had used the more usual method of Divination: psychology and doubletalk. "Professor Dumbledore's given me permission to begin a project with the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest." Her expression started to close off, and Kurama hastily explained, "Oh, not _with _with them. Just in their territory, so I have to negotiate permission. But I couldn't find very much in the library about them, just enough so that I know they're very interested in astrology. So I was wondering... I mean, I don't know how, and it's much too important to ask a student, so..." Let her fill in the blanks.

The professor sat back in her chair, eyes bright and watery. "You would like _me _to read the stars for you."

Kurama nodded. "To know when would be the best time to open negotiations with the centaurs."

Trelawney sniffled faintly, a bony hand tangling in her gauzy shawl. Then she leapt from her chair and rushed through the archway into her apartment.

Kurama blinked, but a few clatters and the banging of a cupboard door later, she returned with a large, flat disc wrapped in black silk tucked under one arm. A flick of her wand dropped parchment, ink, and a quill in front of Kurama.

"Write down your birthdate and time, and place of birth, and tell me if anybody else -- besides the centaurs -- is involved," she told him, setting the silk-wrapped package on her side of the table and fluttering back into the apartment.

"Neville Longbottom," Kurama called after her, even as he jotted down his name and birth place-date-time. What on earth was she doing...?

A heavy book, the leather cracking from use, came sailing out of the archway to land on her seat cushion with a thump. In its wake, Trelawney followed with a fragile-looking crystal globe cradled in her arms. The drape to her apartment swooshed across the archway, pulling to the opposite side to reveal a staircase that hadn't been there before.

The Professor's face shone like a delighted schoolgirl's. "We'll need to use the _other_ room for this."

It was amazing what a little flattery could do sometimes, Kurama thought, half-dazed. He gathered up the heavy disc, book, and parchment, and followed Trelawney down the new staircase.

There were no windows cut into the bare stone walls here, and no carpet on the steps; they'd been worn down in the center and left unrestored, though at least they were clean and dry. Faint candlelight glowed in alcoves near the floor, casting shadows to pool in the curved stairs. Had Kurama's eyes not become accustomed to the dim lamps in the Divination classroom, and had he only human senses, it would have been entirely too easy to break his neck.

Down they circled, around the edge of the tower. One story. Two. The North Tower was seven stories tall, not counting the ground floor or Trelawney in the attic. Halfway to the fourth story below, halfway to the base of the tower, the stairwell spilled out into an empty, unwindowed room.

_No, not empty_, Kurama realized. A small table, covered in blue cloth and identical to the ones in the classroom, sat in the middle of the cavernous space. Shining a small pool of light on it was a floor lamp, its shade red and tasseled. They looked almost ridiculously tiny.

Trelawney breathed in, then strode confidently to the table. Kurama followed, placing the book, his parchment, and the silk-covered disc onto its surface. As Trelawney fussed, pulling out a stand for the globe, flicking through the worn book, unfolding the cloth, Kurama looked around.

The room really was bare, but it didn't actually seem _empty_. A vaulted ceiling soared more than three stories overhead, with no sign that chandelier hooks or candleholders had ever been intended to be there. The walls were only stained with age, nothing showing that a window had existed to be bricked up (if one had). No design had been made with the flagstones of the floor. But... there was something... were those half-erased Arithmancy equations on the wall?

"Mr. Minamino."

Kurama returned his attention to the Professor, who was drawing a series of glowing green letters out of the book, sending them streaming into the globe. The stream of lettering was pooling into a spot under Manchester. (A similar dot, in blue, was pulsing in Tokyo. Kurama's eyes flicked to the parchment where he'd written his birth information; it had gone blank.)

"Yes, Professor?" he asked politely.

She waved him closer. "Come, child. We're soon to delve into the mysteries of the future!"

The way she said it, Kurama thought he might just want to be very close to the table whenever she cast her spell. Because it was fairly obvious by now that she _was_.

He stepped up next to the table, hand brushing against the cotton tablecloth. The disc he'd carried down turned out to be a plate of polished, golden-brown stone. Its center was pinpricked with constellations (which Kurama only recognized because of the Three Stars, which Hogwarts taught as Orion), and its edge engraved with astrological symbols.

Trelawney took a vial of silver liquid and a wide brush from an inside pocket, and painted over the central well, careful not to push any up over the edge. When the liquid smoothed out, the plate began to glow blue. Trelawney reached out and snapped off the light.

Kurama found himself standing in a starscape, with only Trelawney, the little table, and the globe for company.

"This is today," Trelawney intoned, drawing her shawl closely about herself. "The patterns of our lives, reflected in the celestial sphere." She paused for effect, giving Kurama a chance to start picking out the untwinkling dots of the sun, the almost-full moon, Mars... "Just because we cannot see them directly at this hour, doesn't mean that they aren't _there_."

Green and blue lines cut across the sky, one netting over the other, several lines brighter than the rest.

"Your pattern, and Mr. Longbottom's. We'll add in the question," a set of faint white lines covered the green and blue, "and dive into the future!"

The starscape spun.

Later, as Trelawney was sending Kurama on his way, she patted his shoulder. "Dear boy," she wavered, "if you ever want to talk about your impending death... My door's always open."

Kurama made it all the way to the ground floor before doubling over in laughter.

-0-0-0

Late Sunday afternoon, Harry walked slowly through the empty halls near weapons training. He'd finally gotten Remus' letter (a good three days later than he'd expected, until he'd checked a calendar; the full moon had been on Friday), and taken it out of the tower to read.

He didn't want to be in the common room right now. Lavender and Parvati had gotten over the shock of the fire in the sky, and had moved on to milking the excitment for all it was worth. Mostly, this involved dire predictions straight from Trelawney's imagination. Most of the older students were heartily sick of it already. Few were dumb enough to stay in and be trapped listening to it anymore.

Since it was too early for the evening fires to be lit, Harry climbed up onto the wide lip of one of the stone biers set into alcoves along the hall, and opened his letter.

_Dear Harry,_ (it read)

_I'm flattered that you came to me with your dilemma. You were entirely right that this seems rather the conundrum__However, I'm afraid that on my part, that is rather because I can't seem to determine what, exactly, the problem is._

... Good point. Harry remembered his letter, and felt himself redden a bit. It _was _pretty bad, if you didn't have a clue what was going on. Maybe he should've revised it or something, but that would've made it like homework.

_If you can hold off for a bit, I'll see what I can do about arranging a Floo call or a meeting. However, if you can't, the best advice I can possibly give is to ask the person's permission._

Ask Kurama's permission. Harry pictured that conversation and... holding off sounded like a _great_ idea. Utterly brilliant.

_Regards,_

_Remus Lupin_

_P.S. Are we ever going to break you of the habit of calling me Professor? I haven't taught you for three years, Harry. Oh, and Snuffles has been moping about like a kicked puppy without you, so we hope to see you for Christmas._

Harry paused at that final word.

Christmas.

He had someplace to go for Christmas.

His whoop of joy sent the birds in the nearest portrait flapping.

-0-0-0

_Dear Draco,_

_We hope this letter finds you well, and tending to your studies. If you are not, I at least expect some pretense of diligence to ease a mother's worries and placate that bracelet, though I'm sure that by now you've invented ways to bypass your painted minder. Do remember to be discreet with your youthful high spirits, and spend enough time under her eye._

_Here at home, we feel your absence in the manor most keenly. I greatly look forward to your return over the winter holidays. We have begun preparations for the Christmas social season, and I was just going to make an order for dress robes. Do you have a color preference for yours? I would recommend a fine dark blue or gray, since light colors are entirely out of date. This season's colors are red and brown, and of course black is always in style. All of those wash you out so, though, and I recall how tiring green becomes when you wear it day after day._

_I'm sure you've grown since your last fitting, so do have an elf take your measurements. I can hardly speak for most of the school's elves, but Dobby was always passably competent, and should remain so despite its disgrace. I hope to hear from you soon._

_Affectionately,_

_Mum_

Draco folded the letter shut with fingers that were pale, but didn't shake. That, at least, was good; he wasn't showing his emotions too disgracefully. Not that anyone could see him, behind the curtains of his bed, but he shouldn't get any more out of practice.

Not that it would matter, once Voldemort found out Draco had agreed... cooperated, even... in his own 'mysterious disappearance'. The Dark Lord might not be all-knowing and all-powerful (yet), but in person, one-on-one (plus His servants), three feet away? Draco pressed a groan--he was too young to be _that _polished yet. There was a good chance that he'd be killed. He shuddered: or worse, _Crucio'd _to oblivion... He imagined the eulogy. _Farewell, Draco Malfoy, the world is all the lesser for your loss._ Perhaps an artful sniff at the end, indicating unshed tears.

But he'd still be _dead_.

He kicked aside his bedcurtains and cast _Aguamenti_ at Kurama's, a jet of water rousing the Devil's Snare. "Minamino!" he hissed.

Silence.

"... Kurama?"

"We're not under attack," came the response, Kurama's voice as clear as if he hadn't just been rudely woken from a sound sleep. But then, who knew, maybe he hadn't been.

"It's worse than any attack," Draco snapped back, aggrieved. An attack now would be brilliant. If it killed off Kurama and his friends, so much the better. 'I was kidnapped, they were watching me', some manfully restrained emotion and drum up sentiment against Dumbledore... but no way was he suicidal enough to contemplate that with Kurama and his demon buddies alive. "My mother wrote to me."

The silence this time was considerably less tolerant.

"My mother," Draco explained, as if to Crabbe and Goyle, "expects my input in making holiday plans. As in, I'm supposed to be going home for Christmas."

"And?"

"_And_?" Draco echoed. "And what are you going to..." Waitaminute. "... you do _have _a plan in mind, right?" No answer. "_Right_?"

"Malfoy," Kurama grumbled, the word punctuated by the sound of him flopping back onto his pillow, "If I didn't have something in mind, do you think I'd actually tell you so?"

The air caught in Draco's throat.

"Good _night_, Malfoy."

Oh Merlin. He was _doomed._

-0-0-0

TBC

A/N's -

- I added a firescreen to the common room for safety reasons. Namely, it's easy enough to move for Floo calls, you're not supposed to be Flooing into the common rooms anyway, and you've got hordes of roughhousing kids, rugs, trailing robes, parchment, and books all over the place.

- If Harry seems to be acting a bit odd to you, it's intentional. Reason coming up shortly.

- Note that I haven't said Lavender and Parvati don't know about Trelawney's other room.

- one grammatical problem remains, but that's because this site would strip the correct punctuation.


	16. Dastardly Nature

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's -

- fire, Lumos, and Devil's Snare: I'm going by book canon, which uses bluebell flames and doesn't have a sunlight spell. Bluebell flames are an extracurricular spell that not everybody's going to know.

Ch. 16 - Dastardly Nature

The days passed, but nobody could schedule a full-Tantei meeting. Between NEWT-level coursework, two levels of mass tutoring, nearly double the number of students needing one-on-one tutoring, and trying to keep an eye on the students and figure out what Voldemort had been up to all summer... there wasn't any time to formally meet more than one or two at a time. They only saw each other in larger groups during class, meals, and (for the three in Gryffindor) late at night.

Hiei heard from Genkai, who'd talked to Kurama, that Draco Malfoy was asking about their nonexistant plans to protect him. Dumbledore, who she'd also talked to, had a definite plan that would start after January, but his best idea for the winter holidays was to manufacture a serious illness for Malfoy. ("For wizards this age, though, anything that'll last three weeks is deadly or contagious. The Board would force him straight home.")

From Kurama, he found out about the secret Divination Room in the North Tower. ("I suspect she has to share it with Arithmancy and Astronomy. I think I saw equations on the wall, and the constellation globe looked like something Sinistra would have. I wonder how much it's worth...?")

In a massive, blow-up argument after a weapons session, Kuwabara correctly identified five 6th-year students figuring out Tantei fighting styles, thus proving Hiei's point. (Hiei was firmly of the opinion that they shouldn't pit the students against Kurama, Yuusuke, or even Botan. She was no professional, but she was a decent enough opponent with a blunt instrument. Any edge they had needed to be kept in reserve, for the day when some of their students turned to Voldemort.) Kuwabara also picked up on six couples, three recent breakups, and a favorite makeout spot: a caved-in secret passage behind a portrait on the fourth floor. Since he'd screwed over his own argument, Hiei let him flaunt that knowledge for all of five seconds.

Keiko hadn't done anything as useful as the karaoke lilies, but the translating pen she made from a Dictaquill and one of her earrings was, according to Yuusuke, 'damn cool'. Genkai set her to figuring out how and if she could undo her magic to get the earring back.

Despite all of this, Hiei had the sinking suspicion that they weren't getting anywhere. The single night he said so, though, he got the last answer he expected.

"We're not," Kurama replied simply, taking a sip of hot tea from his thermos.

The sun had been down for hours, and the day hadn't been particularly warm in the first place. The tower's stone roof, though dark enough to warm under sufficient sunshine, was icy-cold under Hiei's useless winter cloak. He'd let Kurama steal and drape it over the peak of the garret under them, and taken the outermost seat to help block the wind, but it really wasn't much.

Hiei shot him a sharp look, Kurama's unruffled expression clearly visible to him in the dim light.

"I want to go hunting," Kurama continued. "_You _want to go hunting. We haven't figured out a single thing from the map, the Muggle and wizarding newspapers are empty, I'm not catching much more than illicit potion-making and trysts on my spyeyes and lilies..."

"Then why don't we _go?_" Hiei snapped, turning on Kurama.

Kurama shot him down with a single word.

"Where?"

With a growl, Hiei dropped his headband in Kurama's lap and leapt to the peak of the tower roof, Jagan blazing. He pointedly ignored Kurama as the fox unhurriedly finished his tea, folded up the headband and Hiei's cloak, and went back inside.

Hiei stood on the rooftop, scanning the countryside, the rest of the night.

-0-0-0

The next morning, Kurama sifted powdered willowbark into his tea at breakfast, ignoring the Saturday din of several hundred teenagers and the throb of a mild headache. Normally he wouldn't bother; the taste was worse than the headache, at this level. But today he couldn't afford the lingering distraction.

Almost all the upperclassmen were going to Hogsmeade.

Kurama and Neville had other plans.

He collared Neville on the way out after breakfast, pulling him out of the flow of traffic and into a side corridor behind the Hufflepuff dorms. It led to a locked door, which wouldn't respond to _Alohomora_. Kurama reached for the handle, a vine snaking out of his cuff and picking the lock a second before he shoved on the latch.

Handy trick, that. If Neville noticed he showed no sign, simply following Kurama as they slid down the steep, grassy slopes behind the castle and into the ravine.

"Where are we going?" Neville asked, ignoring the thundering of the quickest Hogsmeade students, mostly third- and fourth-years, on the bridge high overhead.

Kurama flicked a lock of Neville's hair. "Patience is a virtue." Hiei had needed to be reminded of the same thing the night before. Granted, Hiei had the trait in spades, but only as long as he was doing something. This sort of grinding patience, the impotent type where you could do nothing except work on other projects and wait for a chance to open up... it was Yukina's brand of endurance, not Hiei's, or his own.

Neville didn't protest when Kurama led him into the Forest, not anymore. But he edged closer as the gloom deepened, leaves beginning to rustle on half-bared branches, and Kurama felt the boy's power thrum outwards, netting with his own through the root systems and understory. Things darted past in the underbrush: the occasional bowtruckle, long since accustomed to Kurama's presence; a flash of mousy gray fur; something multi-legged and skittery high above.

"We're going a lot deeper than usual, but we'll be fine," Kurama assured him. "We have an invitation."

"To where?"

"The centaurs' territory," Kurama replied, as they clambered over an upturned root, nearly a meter high.

"The--" Neville's voice paused, even as he gamely followed. Kurama could all but hear the pieces falling into place in his student's mind. "_We're_ negotiating for the tree? I thought you were joking!"

Got it in one. Kurama grinned. "Professor Dumbledore thought I wasn't."

"But the centaurs..."

"Yes?"

"We're kids. They'll be offended," Neville explained. Kurama glanced behind him to see the boy biting his lip. "Er, won't they?"

Maybe if they picked up that Kurama wasn't human, which wasn't likely. "I don't think so," Kurama replied. "For one, we're going now. The stars are supposed to be auspicious for opening peaceful negotiations. I understand they're very interested in that."

He could almost feel Neville's dubious stare.

Kurama shrugged. "It's at least polite to make the effort. They'll just send us on our way if Professor Trelawney was wrong."

"Professor Trelawney," Neville repeated.

"She's very nice once you get past the death threats." Smile. Look innocent. "And I've always expected to be murdered anyway."

Neville obviously wasn't expecting that. He stopped short. "What?"

"Well, if I'm not, it'll be a nice surprise, won't it?"

"_Don't joke about things like that!_"

Kurama stopped mid-turn. "Nev...?"

"Just... don't," Neville mumbled, going red as he looked away.

Ooookay, what issue had Kurama just stepped in? "All right..." he said slowly. Whatever sparked that, Kurama wasn't sure he wanted to pry yet. Certainly not when they were in the middle of the cusith pack's territory.

He cocked his head, gesturing them back into a walk. "Getting back to the subject," Kurama said, pretending not to notice Neville's grateful look, "Firstly, we've made the effort to be polite. Secondly, the tree is our responsibility. We only need spin it that we're not foisting the task off on other people, see."

"But we are," Neville replied, though he sounded happier to have dropped the old subject than he was worried about the new one. "By asking to move it to the forest. That sticks it in their backyard to deal with."

"Yes, so we're going to have a bit of a time convincing them otherwise."

"That's lying."

Kurama shrugged. "That's diplomacy, sadly enough. But it's the first of its species. That's no different than being the last. Perhaps it's my Muggle upbringing, but I feel that it's not right to let a species go extinct for convenience." Plants, anyway. They didn't try to eat or kill him, though he could do with a little less poison ivy.

"You're Muggleborn?"

"Muggle raised. But it amounts to the same thing, really."

"I didn't know that."

"Well, I do try to keep it quiet. Wouldn't go over well in the current Slytherin climate."

"I didn't think Muggleborn could get into Slytherin because of that."

Kurama grinned. "My natural dastardly nature outweighed the circumstances of my birth?"

Neville just shook his head.

-0-0-0

Leaves rustled in eddies over the cobbled roads of Hogsmeade, blown this way and that by faint October breezes and the passing of dozens of wizards in billowing robes and light cloaks. If one of those cloaks pushing the leaves along was invisible, well, who would notice? Unless Harry bumped into somebody, nobody would. They hadn't in previous years, after all.

That said, Harry still moved more carefully as he passed Ron and Hermione near the post office. If anybody was likely to catch him, they would, and they were exactly the two people he wanted to avoid. He'd left them back at the castle, with a simple 'got something to do, not sure how long it'll take me, I'll meet up with you in town'.

It was true, after all. It just wasn't in the castle.

Harry fingered the folded and well-creased note in his pocket, crinkling it absently. _The Three Broomsticks. 11 am. Come alone. RL._

They'd be hurt if they knew he was meeting Remus (and, hopefully, Sirius), and they weren't invited. More importantly, they'd be suspicious... or worse, curious.

A few more doors down, and Harry skirted past Yukina and Kuwabara, then ducked under the eaves of the Three Broomsticks. He squeezed up between the outside wall and a rain barrel, and checked his watch under the Cloak. 11:01. Was he supposed to go inside, or...?

The door to the pub opened, a six-pack box of Butterbeers and a canvas sack poking out at about waist height. A young witch followed, smiling down at the holder of the bags and patting him on the... Harry squinted. Hand?

A large black dog slunk around the door, tail wagging and eyes pinned to the pretty witch.

She'd patted his head. Right; of course! It had to be Sirius.

The dog's nostrils flared, and he whuffed noisily past the bags hanging from his mouth. Then, passing by Harry so closely that his fur ruffled the Cloak, he trotted off down the street.

Harry could take a hint. He followed.

Sirius led him out of town, down the hills towards the Shrieking Shack. A few third-years stood clustered near the surrounding fence, some strutting daringly close and making scary faces, but Harry only got a quick glimpse before Sirius angled away.

Sticking to the forest's cover, they circled the fence, coming up on the Shack from the far side. The dog slipped through a broken board in the siding, low to the ground, and when Harry squeezed through he found the edges had been worn smooth.

Then he was engulfed in thick fabric that smelled faintly of mothball charms and dog.

"Harry!"

Harry hugged back unselfconsciously, but only for a moment. The feeling of a hug was never going to be familiar, so he pulled away, grinning, and spotted Remus a little further into the room. The werewolf looked about as well as he ever did, a bit thinner and a bit less raggedy than Sirius.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hello, Harry," Remus replied, rubbing a hand over Harry's shoulder in greeting before tapping Sirius on the arm, helping edge Sirius back to a more comfortable distance. Then he flicked his wand at a dusty, cobweb-draped table lying fallen in the corner of the room, replacing its missing two legs in a quick move that sent the table kicking itself back upright. Another spell scrubbed it clean, and Remus began emptying the bags Sirius had brought from the Three Broomsticks.

Six Butterbeers, charmed frosty. Several pasties half-wrapped in paper, letters in raised dough marking the contents. A smaller paper bag marked with Honeydukes' logo.

"Lunch!" Sirius cheered, summoning a few crates to transfigure into chairs.

"You just ate," Remus said.

"Porridge is not food," Sirius replied virtuously. "_Kippers _are food. Eggs are food. Bacon, scones, and sausages are food. Right, Harry?"

Personally, Harry was happy with anything that wasn't dry cereal and a crust of toast, but on this point... "Only for breakfast. It's lunchtime now."

Sirius laughed, clapping Harry down into one of the plaid, overstuffed armchairs he'd made and flopping into the next. Remus took his own on the other side of the small table.

"So, Harry," he said. "About your letter..."

Right. The reason they were here, instead of safely under the Fidelius Charm on Remus' safehouse.

Harry took a breath. "Before I say a thing, I want you to promise you won't tell Dumbledore. Or anybody else who would tell him. If he doesn't know already, the guy doesn't want him to." And since Kurama had kidnapped Malfoy to keep him silent... Harry didn't want to know what would happen if he got caught.

The two men exchanged serious looks. "Harry..." Sirius began.

"No, look." Harry laced his fingers together nervously. "It's... if he really doesn't want other people to know... it's just got to be only my fault if people find out. See?"

"No," Sirius snapped. But before Harry could explain, Remus did.

"You're only telling us because you trust us not to spread it farther. Because he'll know who to blame anyway if this gets out." A quick look shut Sirius' mouth again, and Remus sat back in his chair. "I agree. I will, however, do my best to convince you to go to the appropriate people if we decide there's a real problem. Understood?"

Harry nodded, then looked at Sirius. His godfather had a very hangdog expression on his face, one more suited to Padfoot after he'd been given a flea bath and denied the dinner roast.

"Sirius?" Harry asked.

"Agreed."

Remus' expression relaxed, then he turned back to Harry. "Why don't you start at the beginning?"

What had been the beginning? When he'd met Kurama in Diagon Alley, and been so relieved when the redhead had no idea who he was? The test where Youko had scared the shit out of him? The article about Malfoy's 'mysterious kidnapping'? And could he explain it at all without using names or Houses? "I guess..." Harry murmured. He guessed what? The problem hadn't started from any one event, exactly.

He started over. "Well, I found out the last day of OWLs, when I saw him sneaking out of the castle and followed..."

-0-0-0

Sit in highly visible and public section of the castle, with lots of watchers. Check. It was a nice enough day that Draco was stuck sharing this courtyard with several first-years. In addition, every hallway leading here was packed with social paintings; sunny landscapes with picnics, fox hunts, and fairs, favorites of the portraits on weekends. His bracelet's inhabitant, apparently given some leeway to enjoy her duties more, had switched her background for a bright summer glade. She even had a visitor, some fat woman in pink, conversing with her in emphatic sign language.

Fret. Check. Draco flicked a glance towards the sky, left, right, forward, then pressed his back reassuringly against the stone wall. No broom riders, none of the first-years within twenty feet of him, and the wall remained as solid and un-Portkeyed as it had been a minute ago.

Plan. That was taking a bit more doing. Kurama hadn't said a damn word about his ideas for protecting Draco over the holidays, so Draco was doing it himself. However, so far, he'd only managed to figure out that he had two basic options: be reaccepted (by Voldemort), and escape (from Voldemort). The second sometimes required the first, but was for the most part easy.

Don't get killed. Take (insert secret passage) from the Manor. (Each plan used a different passage.) Continue not getting killed. Without more information, like on who he could trust in Knockturn Alley and how Muggle London worked, it sounded unnervingly like a Gryffindor plan.

The first option was really a lot easier to work with, except that he had yet to get past the first step: get Kurama killed. Because there was no way he was going back to Voldemort if Kurama was still alive to come after him.

So, get Kurama killed. A stab to the heart hadn't done much last summer, but what would happen if the demon lost his head? ... aside from entirely too much blood and guts and gore raining down from the trees in hot metallic drops...

Draco swallowed. Maybe poison. Yes. Poison would be a lot less messy, and he might not even be there when it worked and Kurama dropped dead. Plus, he was good at Potions, though they hadn't really done poisons so much as antidotes. And Snape and Pomfrey had bezoars to take care of most poisons... but Draco was a Slytherin. He could be cunning about this. Though to be moreso than Snape would take doing. Same with Kurama. Draco couldn't just drop whatever poison he chose into the demon's pumpkin juice, and the stupid elves would never let anything poisonous past the kitchen...

His pillow? But there was the Devil's Snare to deal with. _Lumos _didn't do a thing to Devil's Snare, and all the fire charms he knew would burn down the bed. ... and Kurama could talk to the damn thing anyway. It had told him about catching Draco that very first night of fifth year.

The pillow was out. His toothbrush, maybe? Except everybody kept theirs under locking charms, because Crabbe and Goyle had a tendency to not pay attention to whose was whose. Definitely didn't want to kill Crabbe or Goyle. People would get suspicious.

This was getting him nowhere. He needed to find a spell or potion that would work. Why did stupid Potter and Weasley have to drag the mudblood out of the library and to Hogsmeade today? He couldn't go if it was empty!

Library. Around a mudblood. _Willingly_. What was the world coming to?

... maybe he should just resign himself to faking a second kidnapping. He could come back after the war, and Shizuru wouldn't be so bad if he got into Chuu's stash. Right?

_Dammit, Kurama, you'd better have something brilliant by December!_

-0-0-0

When it was over, when Harry had finished with his own misgivings about Neville ("my friend that he's affecting, though it's not, um, contagious or anything"), Remus leaned back in his cushiony chair, one hand brushing his chin in thought.

Sirius opened his mouth, and Remus absently clapped his other hand over it.

"Mmph!"

"Harry," Remus began slowly. "Before _either of us_," he glanced sternly at Sirius, "continue, I'd like to ask something. Don't take this the wrong way, but it's only that I have to know." Harry nodded, biting his lip. "If this person, whoever it is," Sirius let out a muffled, eager whine, and got the silencing glare turned on him again, "hadn't shifted in front of you... would his actions still worry you?"

Harry's mouth opened silently, then closed. Would...? "He wouldn't let me notice if I didn't know," Harry replied unthinkingly, mind focused on what Remus _meant_. If he was judging Kurama because of the shift... because he was a demon...

Tension Harry hadn't noticed left Remus' shoulders. "Good," he said softly. Then, more satisfied, "Good. That's a start."

Judging because of _what _he was, not who... even though the 'what' was dangerous...? And Remus was sitting right there, watching Harry with nothing but concern in his face.

Harry felt his stomach twist, and he let his gaze fall to the worn tabletop. Was he treating Kurama like most people treated Remus?

"Now can I talk, Moony?" Sirius asked plaintively. Remus waved him to silence, letting Harry think.

If Kurama hadn't changed after letting Harry find out, he would be. But Kurama had been acting weird... no. No, he hadn't, except for the one time Harry had asked him about Neville. And how much of that was Kurama not trying too hard to figure out how to explain things in human terms, because Harry knew better?

... oh Merlin. Harry _had _been thinking like Kurama was some sort of monster. Why? Because Kurama had killed another demon? Harry had killed Quirrell, Sirius had tried to kill Pettigrew, Yuusuke had flat-out admitted most of Genkai's students had needed to kill before. Because of Malfoy? He'd brought Malfoy back, though Harry hadn't known he would.

Because of being a demon? A youko? Even Hagrid had warned them off meeting him, and Genkai had told some slightly hair-raising stories, even though she'd brought Kurama (and been completely unsurprised when Youko Kurama knocked on her door after the night in the Forest). Since she knew, she would've told the nicer stories in case Kurama did get caught, right? So if that had been the toned-down lesson... weren't demons inherently evil?

Yuusuke had said otherwise. And, okay, Yuusuke was obviously biased and not the best source of information, but...

Kurama had helped them.

Kurama had brought Malfoy back.

As incredible as it was, Neville had been happy with Kurama for a tutor.

So, maybe... just maybe... Yuusuke and Kurama had been right, that Harry's problem was that Kurama was a _Slytherin _demon. And that was no better than having a problem because Remus turned into a rabid monster once a month.

Something clicked into place under the nausea in Harry's stomach, and he swallowed. Somehow, the warm pasties from the pub weren't looking so good anymore.

He steeled himself and looked back into Remus' face.

Remus smiled. "Figured anything out?"

Oh Merlin, he had.

"Feel better?"

No, no, and bloody hell no.

"Ah." Remus leaned forward. "If it helps, then, from what I remember, you think best with your heart." He paused. "Or your gut instinct, whichever term you prefer. It sounds like you've been trying to think with your head."

Harry shook his head.

"No?"

He'd been thinking with... something that couldn't be his head or heart. All this because Kurama was a Slytherin as much as a demon? That couldn't be logic or thought. But his instincts had all been screaming something wasn't making sense, and since he'd sort of been trying to deduce from observations and getting paranoid... okay, maybe that was his head.

Harry let his head drop onto his crossed arms. His stomach hurt.

"Harry?" both men chorused, worried.

"I've been an idiot."

A large hand... Sirius', from the angle... rubbed his shoulder. "People generally end up feeling like that," Sirius said, "when they're up against a fox." Harry's head shot up, his mouth going dry.

"Sirius..." Remus began tiredly.

"No, look, it all makes sense. I thought he'd been getting fed by someone up at the castle, last winter, remember? Even though he'd supposedly only showed up for a few weeks in spring. But Harry saw him in June. And he scared the heck out of Harry once before; that would've been the Defense test, right? And this classmate shifted and was still able to talk, and to carry Malfoy? He made Malfoy disappear and reappear on a train that had only students? And a Japanese demon shows up the year Japanese exchange students come to the school, under a professor who isn't fully under Dumbledore's control? You know as much of the deal as I do, Moony. Mark my words, it's the fox. Isn't it, Harry?"

_Oh Merlin._

"It's irrelevant, Pads," Remus muttered.

"Is not. He's got a right to know if a fox has been messing with his head. Manipulations and mind games, Moony."

_Kurama's going to think I told them._

"_Benign_, since if it is that fox..."

"You know it is."

"... _if it is that fox_, and he wanted to hurt anybody, he would've done so by now. It's been over a year."

"Harry still has a right to know what happened."

"You're speculating, Padfoot."

"Look at that face!" Sirius pointed a finger straight at Harry's nose. "That's not a 'Sirius doesn't know what he's talking about' face!" Harry instantly tried and failed to smooth out his expression.

Remus looked at Harry, then pinched the bridge of his nose and gestured grandly. "Mr. Moony cedes the floor to Mr. Padfoot, resident expert in all matters approximately canine."

"Thank you." Sirius drew himself up self-importantly, a glint in his eye that made him look suddenly boyish. "Now, Harry, allow me to expound upon the behavior of the uncommon fox..."

-0-0-0

"ACHOO!"

"You okay, Kurama?"

"I think so." Kurama rubbed the tip of his nose. "Somebody must be talking about me."

Neville's skeptical look warned of Pepper-Up Potion in Kurama's near future, but Kurama ignored it in favor of calling down a tree branch from the canopy above. Catching hold, he let it swing him over a muddy gully. Neville followed suit, stumbling just a bit on landing.

"We'll wait here," Kurama said.

"Here?"

"They patrol the whole forest, but this is the edge of their home territory. It would be rude to go further." Plus, something had been pacing them, outside the range of Neville's power, for the past ten minutes.

Neville jolted to his full height at the first step into his range, wide eyes pinned to the shadows off to their left.

The centaur was red-haired, his human half stocky and his horse half a light chestnut color. He took a step closer, then another, and bent to peer closely into Kurama's face.

Kurama returned the look calmly, noting brown eyes and a heavy brow, and the scent of apples. _Not a demon, not a demon, perfectly ordinary wizard here..._

"I am Ronan," he finally said.

"Kurama," Kurama responded in kind. "And Neville Longbottom."

The centuar nodded politely to Neville, getting a jerky bow from the boy, then turned back to Kurama. "Mercury is bright today."

"Is that good?" Neville asked. The centaur turned a cool eye on him, and he ducked his head shyly.

"You may speak with Magorian. Come."

-0-0-0

TBC

A/N's -

- pasties: as in Cornish pasty, a tough pastry filled with meat and vegetables. Sometimes has a second compartment for fruit, serving as dessert.

Omake (non-canon bonus scene):

Draco could remember one spell that definitely, unmistakably, always killed the person of your choice no matter how far away you were. You needed a cheekbook and several tons (he would have to look up what he'd need tons of, but it was definitely several thousand pounds of something), and involved phoning a Muggle. He wasn't quite sure what 'phoning' was, but it sounded very painful, especially since the Muggle being phoned had been described as a hit man.


	17. Halloween

Warnings, disclaimers, so on.

A/N's:

- some questions have popped up regarding things like Legilimancy, the relationships that occured in HBP and the epilogue, motivations that weren't shown until OotP and later, etc. I'm incorporating VERY LITTLE of HP canon that hadn't shown up by the end of GoF, since I plotted out these stories in that long stretch between the publishing of GoF and OotP. Many things that JKR didn't reveal until OotP and later, like Inferi, Legilimancy, and Horcruxes, don't fit into my fic and would damage the plot.

- on a related subject, some things are occuring behind the scenes in this fic that simply don't have any effect on the story, like whether or not Snape knows somebody stole from his potions stores. Those topics won't be addressed.

- thank you all SO much for your patience during my hiatus.

* * *

Ch. 17 - Halloween

Kurama noticed that, after the Hogsmeade weekend, Harry stopped watching him so damn much. Oh, the looks were still _there_, but a lot of the suspicion had been replaced by confusion, and he'd quit following Kurama around.

Somebody had talked some sense into the boy. Kurama could probably guess who, given that nobody else in the student body or staff was acting odd. Harry just didn't have that many acquaintances outside Hogwarts, that the Tantei were aware of. Of the remaining possibilities, one hadn't gone for his throat when they'd met last year, another was by all accounts a restraining influence, and the last would likely have stormed the gates by now had she known. Black or Lupin, then, and if he was lucky Harry had been smart enough to avoid naming names.

_It's something of a relief_, Kurama thought, as he watched cloudy blue nectar bead up in the lilies he was growing. He wouldn't have liked using the room below Gryffindor Tower. The space was too large, unfamiliar, and a bit too public; the Patil twins still used it, this year with Kuwabara teaching them, and last year Harry had broken in without any trouble. But with the threat of a paranoid Harry out of the picture, he and Neville could use the Gryffindor dorms without too much trouble... though a very tiny part of Kurama would've preferred hiding in the deepest, darkest hole he could find in Hogwarts.

Alone.

A nail-bitten hand intruded into Kurama's vision, one fingertip dipping into the pooling nectar. "It feels funny," Neville said, pinching the droplet into a smear.

Kurama tugged the flowers away. "Don't do that. I don't want to mess up the dose."

"Why?" The boy sniffed at the blue drug on his hand, and wrinkled his nose at the rotting-fruit scent. "You said it won't hurt us."

"Yes..." Kurama murmured, keeping his expression mild even as his hands tightened slightly on the cupped blossoms. "But you want to be awake for Magorian, don't you?"

Neville's face brightened, for the same reason that Kurama's mood had soured: the head stallion had told Neville that he looked forward to their next meeting. The boy likely hadn't realized Magorian hadn't included Kurama in that.

It had been a deliberate snub, and even now, over a week later, Kurama couldn't be quite sure why it had happened at all. They'd been perfectly polite (for centaurs) through the rest of the meeting, so it wasn't that they'd realized he was a demon... probably.

He'd figure it out by Saturday.

Kurama lifted the waxy flower close, swirling the nectar carefully to get any bubbles out. The consistency looked good, only one or two bubbles blurping to the surface, so Kurama held it out to Neville. "Lie down first," he said. "It takes effect rather quickly."

Neville scrambled into his bed, nearly dropping the flower. "Are you _sure_ about this?"

"Equinox." Had been bad enough that Neville should need no further convincing, even with the constant threat of pranks over their heads.

"... if I wake up with tomatoes coming out of my ears, you're fixing them."

Kurama chuckled. "Drink up, and I'll see you Friday night."

-0-0-0

Hiei yawned as he opened the door Wednesday night, eyes flicking automatically over the night-dark dorm. The stove's warm glow, though blocked by an array of towels and scarves thrown over the firescreen and boots piled in front of it, showed nothing but the usual mess and empty beds of the Gryffindor dorm. The closed curtains of his own bed were normal; the same could not be said of Neville's. Hiei went still, letting the silence deepen until he heard soft breathing from the boy's bed, slow and quiet enough that he had to be asleep despite the early hour.

Other than that, the dorm was empty. Hiei let the door fall shut behind him, and reached into a pocket, fingers catching at a fold of thin cotton and pulling it free. Parchment crinkled inside his handkerchief as he opened it, sparks snapping at his fingertips when the cloth fell free.

Ten minutes since he'd left Granger to clean up in the empty classroom, and her latest ward had yet to explode, ignite, or melt. It probably didn't have any weak spots this time, then, which would be a first; her panic-strengthened first ward on Youko Kurama didn't count.

Hiei let the strip of parchment drop onto the stovetop, watching it go up in a flash of blue-green flame. Six months of bookwork, six weeks to a passably-written ward... at this rate, the girl would need ten years to be a threat.

Maybe. Humans made years change things so _fast_.

He shook his head and grabbed his towel off the screen, absently wiping the smear of greasy ashes off the stove with his thumb, then headed over to his bed. Now wasn't the time to worry. He'd kill that problem when it attacked.

Something made Hiei pause with his fingertips almost brushing the bucket of toiletries under his nightstand. It took a full second, half a moment too long for his comfort, for his mind to catch up with his instincts and tell him what was wrong.

The curtains on his own bed were supposed to be closed, yes. They were not, however, supposed to smell ever-so-faintly of greenery.

Hiei didn't need a sixth sense, or the uncanny semblence of one from months of battling at someone's side, to add up Neville's unconsciousness, the scent of his bed, and tomorrow's date. Kurama had used one of his many thieving tricks and snuck in behind Hiei's protective wards... and all things considered, Hiei wouldn't bet the fox was any more awake than Neville. Or would be for the next day or two.

He snorted. "That's one way to get around this," he muttered at the closed curtains. It wasn't something Hiei was fool enough to do, despite Kurama, but... well. It was the fox's business if he was willing to drug himself on nothing but faith in the strength of Hiei's wards and restraint of Hiei's homicidal nature.

... not that the murderous tendencies had been anywhere to be found _last_ Halloween.

Hiei thumped his head against the bedpost.

-0-0-0

After lunch on Halloween, Harry was (for a change) already midway through the essay Hagrid had just assigned: eight inches on the courtship displays of Clabbertines, a New World relative of the Clabbert. So far, Harry had managed one inch about the blinking patterns, another about how the mating season was in July, and three on how American Muggles kept pestering wizards to take down their Christmas lights.

He could've padded the essay with extra words, but this was Hagrid. It rather felt like cheating.

Harry sighed, trying to think of something else to add, when something pale and fluttery caught the corner of his eye. He glanced up just as the fluttery thing landed next to his hand with a faint, dry _smack_.

It was a bat, made out of paper, and it unfolded itself almost cheerfully under Harry's eyes to reveal a pattern of skittering little dots... No, spiders, Harry realized: tiny ink spiders, gathering in blocky letters near the center of the page.

_Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes,_

_Purveyors of Goods _

_for the_

_Elite Prankster,_

_Extend This Cordial Invitation_

_To A Private Sampling_

_- and -_

_Halloween Sale!_

_Invitation Open Only to Viewers of This Flier_

_Staff Not Permitted_

_Directions and Map on Reverse_

_They didn't_, Harry thought, incredulous. A glance at the back showed a simple sketch, ink footsteps leading to a room three corridors down from the Transfiguration classroom. _They did._

Well, he had a free period...

Ten minutes later, Harry found himself staring at a frenzy more suited to the twins' Diagon shop than 'a private sampling'. Students, mostly in first and second year, rummaged through piles of boxes and assorted sweets, all overflowing off of old desks and whizzing through the air as the twins summoned, banished, and levitated things to keep them from landing on the ground.

The most eerie part was that, from this side of the doorway, it was all utterly silent. Harry took a step forward, and nearly winced at the explosion of sound inside the room. Confetti went flying from somewhere on the far side of the crowd.

A red head popped up out of the mass. "Harry!" the twin cheered, tossing an extra Dungbomb in a small girl's bag and scooping her neatly out of his path... a move which seemed more George than Fred. "Come to see your favorite shopkeepers?"

Harry couldn't help but grin, just a bit. "Got invited."

"Of course you did," George replied, "though you're the oldest." He pulled Harry further into the bedlam, his free hand gesturing out over the students. "We thought it was a shame, that the firsts and seconds can't buy treats for Halloween. Homesick and at the mercy of the rest of us at the happiest time of year? Can't have that."

The fact that he and Fred had been two of the most merciless of 'the rest of us' just the year before seemed to have escaped his notice.

"What do you think?"

"It's great!" Harry said. One of the Slytherin first-years barreled past, carrying a box of firecrackers under one arm. "Er..."

"Don't forget some Unmatchables!" George called after the boy. "Gotta be able to light those things," he added, more quietly.

Fireworks and Slytherins. Not a good idea, Harry thought, eyeing George. But the twin turned back to him with a bright grin. "So! Care to give us a hand?"

"Knew there was a reason for that flier." Free labor.

"You wound us. Cash box is over there," George pointed, giving Harry a friendly shove, "orange boxes are free samples, and sales get rounded down to the nearest Galleon. Student discount."

Harry stumbled over to the cheerfully hovering metal box, catching it out from over Fred's shoulder as a crowd of second-years dragged the redhead away. More students swarmed in behind them, small handfuls of coins outstretched.

"Harry, I'm ready to pay!"

"Me too!"

"Me first!"

"Can I have a sample box for my sister?"

For a moment, Harry almost felt like he was going to drown in first-years. Then he got his footing, and "Okay, okay. Form a line--"

"Can I have an autograph?"

Harry's voice caught for a second, heart sinking. He shouldn't be surprised anymore, but... "No quill." Thank Merlin.

"Not worth much anyway," a gangly young Slytherin muttered. Several of the others glared, but the kid only raised his chin higher and added, "He signs his _homework_."

Harry chuckled weakly at that. "Yeah. Exactly. I sign essays on flobberworms. You guys don't want stuff like that." Not very many of them looked convinced, but Harry mustered a better smile. "Now, come on, who's first in line?"

A sea of hands went up. "Me!"

Harry soon lost track of both twins and time, adding up prices and counting out Sickles and Knuts (almost none of the kids had Galleons), the math not coming easily. Doing the cashiering was a lot different than just handing over coins and trusting to get back the right change. But it didn't seem very long before the room emptied out, and Harry could drop a final few Sickles into the cash box and lock it. Some Whizbees fizzed feebly nearby, sputtering out even as the twins started to charm their products back into passably-neat stacks.

"Whew!" Fred said, wiping his brow. "Great day, if I say so myself. Best idea we ever had. 'Lo, Harr--" His voice cut off. Harry glanced up, catching Fred staring at him. Slowly, his pale eyes narrowed, and he took a careful, measured step forward. Then another.

Nobody stayed friends with the Weasleys very long without developing a healthy anti-prank instinct. "... guys?" Harry stepped back, bumping into the desk with the cash box, and found George blocking his escape route.

Two pairs of gray eyes peered at Harry from entirely too close, each from over a knuckle tapping against a thoughtful frown. Harry gulped, breaking the gaze to check their free hands for pranks.

As one, the twins tapped the same knuckle, the one that had been pressed to their lips, against Harry's scar. "Luck, Harry," they chorused.

_What?_

"Seems like you might need it," George added. And with that, the strange mood broke, the twins' faces falling back into their usual sunny smiles. "Since you're going to be playing delivery boy now."

Fred flicked his wand at a box from a nearby pile, sending it sailing neatly into George's outstretched hand. "Sherbet Secrets, for all your bribing needs."

"Bribing?" Harry echoed.

Fred's arm landed across Harry's shoulder, steering him through the piles. "But of course!" he replied. "Why else would a fine, upstanding citizen--"

"Like Professor Dumbledore," George added.

"Let rising young entrepreneurs--"

"Who are the bane of several staff members' existance."

"Fill his school with contraband and sell it to impressionable--"

"Corruptible."

"Ickle firsties?"

Harry bit his lip. Well, put like _that_...

George elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "Though if dear Miss Granger finds out, it's 'delighted to see alumni taking an interest in the children's wellbeing' and 'the spirit of the season'." A light shove, and the door closed behind Harry with a merry "Come back soon, we'll be here all day!", leaving Harry standing in the corridor with his head spinning.

What in Merlin's name had _that _been all about?

"Definitely need to quit sampling their own stuff," Harry muttered, pocketing the box of Sherbet Secrets and heading off towards Dumbledore's office.

-0-0-0

Later that night, Harry's stomach, aching slightly from far too much food and a few too many goodnatured, shape-changing pranks, didn't keep him from dropping off to sleep like a stone when he went to bed.

It could've been minutes or hours later that he dreamed _of wandering the stacks of the library, in the blued light of a summer moon. The shelves echoed with half-heard music, unmuffled laughter woven through the songs. A shy impression of a smile, and the book that fell into Harry's hand was a tangle of vanishing gillyweed._

_Harry swam through the stacks, sending up a swirl of bookfish in the greenish spell light. The fish darted behind a tower of stone lakeweed, leading Harry through the murky dungeons of Hogwarts, but eventually they vanished into the foggy water. Harry drifted on through the empty corridors, the laughter fading away._

_Slowly, Harry became aware that he was walking through a long, wide hallway, up to his chest in clinging tendrils of blue-green mist, which was quickly draining away into nothingness. Just him, the corridor, and the wall full of silver-framed nightscapes._

_Something about those seemed familiar..._

_A curl of the mist coiled around his arm, almost tugging, and Harry lifted his hand to let the haze drift over his face and vanish._

_Oh. He'd been here before._

_The mist flowed around his legs and feet, tickling at his fingertips, trailing over the stone floor and up the wall. His hands followed in their wake (or did the wall loom closer?), brushing against stone and mortar, skipping lightly over the silver frames, and landing on the sticky-rough brushstrokes of a painted sitting room._

Masssster...

_A frisson of alarm nearly brought Harry's hands off the fading canvas, but (and the mists roiled about him again) it was just a dream, nothing could hurt him if it was just a dream... _

_Even the room's fireplace warming under his hands, the cool tickle of a Death Eater's painted robe as he bowed deeply before a high-backed wingchair, the damp of his too-pale skin as he trembled under Harry's ring finger._

...take the three first,_ Voldemort's voice scratched through the room, no better than a badly-tuned radio but strengthening fast._ _Harry's scar started to burn, and the mist surged, snaking at the image of the Dark Lord on his shabby throne._

_If it would just _stay_ a dream and a painting and brushstrokes in silver, it couldn't hurt Harry. Even Voldemort couldn't hurt Harry..._

I don't care, _Voldemort snarled, oblivious to the coiling blue-green haze jabbing at his throat_, about the Muggleszzzffrrshhh...

_The canvas firmed under Harry's fingertips, only paint once more._

TBC


	18. The Red Thread of Fate

Warnings, disclaimers, blah.

A/N's -

- furisode: the type of kimono that Botan wears

- geta: Japanese sandal, less formal than zori

- Ron's pendant: for Christmas in BD, Ron recieved an expandable chessboard on a necklace chain

_"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break." - Chinese saying_

In Japan, the thread is thought to be tied around the littlest fingers of a couple.

* * *

Ch. 18 - The Red Thread of Fate

Hiei checked his watch as the last of his weapons students disarmed her opponent, sending his bokken flying. Three til five. "That's it," he told the pair, jerking his thumb at the ragged line of students jogging the perimeter of the room. Jones bowed to him, McLaggen pushing to his feet to do the same, and they quickly put their weapons away and joined the joggers to cool down.

The House Elves had left several pitchers of water and a stack of cups on the window ledge, condensation pooling on the polished stone. Hiei poured himself a cup, frowning at the sliver of fading sunset sky he could see between the towers of the school. It was time... long past time... for the upper class to begin working with live weaponry. For most of them, that meant their magic, like Kuwabara's Rei-ken.

Hiei slid aside as the students crowded in after the water. Live blades and this many unblooded humans... even as quick as he was, one set of eyes wouldn't be enough, if they wanted their kids to come out of class intact. _A quick wand for healing would be useful_, he thought, pouring the last of his water into his handkerchief and wiping off the back of his neck, _so Yukina, Pomfrey..._

Across the room, the door opened, several students calling out greetings to Kuwabara. A few near the pitchers, the ones Hiei had mentally tagged as the laziest students, groaned.

... _Kuwabara_.

Hiei made a face and, leaving the cup for the Elves, marched across the room.

The students edged back, just a bit, giving Hiei a clear path past Kuwabara to the door. But he paused, casting a sharp look at the taller boy.

Kuwabara bristled. "What?"

Too easy. Hiei grunted. "After dinner."

"Huh?" Kuwabara asked blankly, twisting as Hiei brushed past him. He snapped back into outrage a split second later. "HEY! Whatever it is you can say it right now, you little punk--"

"You have a class to teach." He walked out to the sound of Kuwabara sputtering, smirking slightly when the door slammed shut on an ear-piercing note.

The smirk vanished when he spotted Harry waiting a little ways down the hallway. Harry _did _prefer to leave while everybody else was getting water between sessions, since he didn't train with Kuwabara, but usually he made tracks for the nearest shower instead of standing around. He had to want something...

Hiei strode down the hallway anyway, letting Harry fall into step next to him. A quick, inquisitive glance was all it took for Harry to speak.

"I wanted to ask about that last move Megan did." Harry twisted his wrist in demonstration. "With the left-hand knife?"

"Waste of time in a real fight," Hiei replied without needing to think. "If you get your blade that close to your enemy's hand, aim for it." Not the hilt. Or the wand, in Harry's case.

"Yeah..." Harry said slowly. "But I meant, would it maybe snap the wand?"

Hiei paused. Blinked. Replayed the exact move slowly in his mind, switching the weapons for a knife and wand... the strongest part of the blade could catch on the join between wand and hilt. If the blade was sharp enough, the move done perfectly, and the enemy had a deathgrip on the wand so it didn't slip away... "Maybe." He huffed. "But it's better to just cut--"

Far behind them, a door slammed open. Hiei glanced back automatically, words dying on his lips when he spotted Kuwabara barreling furiously towards them, hand held awkwardly out before him. Littlest finger forward, eyes narrowed and teeth bared, half his attention kilometers away...

Hiei barely needed to hear Kuwabara bark "Yukina," as he shot past them. He pushed into a (slow, too slow) run, keeping pace with Kuwabara, and only old habit made him aware of Harry following in their wake.

"Where?" Hiei asked sharply.

"I don't know," Kuwabara gasped. Hiei cursed under his breath, adding a snarl when Kuwabara hesitated at an intersection, just long enough to glance both ways before rushing headlong to the left.

They leapt down a curving, narrow flight of stairs, Hiei on Kuwabara's heels. The evening torches flared up as they pounded across the atrium and into the Hufflepuff side of the dungeons. Hiei's breath streamed from him in a white plume, blocking his view of the hallway for a split second as he skidded around a corner and nearly plowed into Kuwabara's back.

Yukina was huddled against one wall of the corridor, her face stark white, frost outlining her dark robes. Her eyes were pinned to a small, ragged bundle of sticks on the floor near an open door; a bleached-white string trailed out from it, ending in the distinctive shine of a tear gem...

Hiei didn't feel himself move. The next thing he knew, he'd yanked Yukina halfway to her feet, blocking her view of the tiny mummy with his own body. "It's not him!" he hissed into her face, glaring into her stricken eyes. "It's not," he repeated, less violently. _It's not me._ Her fingers dug into his forearm, something pale flickering in her pupils.

The temperature in the corridor, already icy cold, plummeted.

Hiei spun, shoving his sister protectively behind him.

A woman stood where the rotting body had been. She towered over Hiei and Yukina in her pale blue furisode kimono and snow geta; her hair, a shade darker than the kimono, had been caught up in a high ponytail with spiky white ornaments. A disgusted sneer marred her face.

It took a moment for Hiei to recognize the woman who'd thrown him off the glacier when he was a day old. Rui, their mother's best friend... but she'd never looked anything but sad. It couldn't be...

The apparation raised a hand to strike.

"_Rui-san, no!_" Yukina cried out.

Harry flung himself between Hiei and Rui; Hiei got a glimpse of a raised wand, and kimono sleeves tearing into a filthy gray shroud, before the chill of the corridor stabbed into his heart.

_Green eyes flashed (traitor! Get out of the way, I don't want to kill _you_!), hot blood splashing into too many eyes._

_"Yeah, I heard he ate an Ice Maiden... no idea what one was doing off their damned Glacier, though."_

_"She left. We haven't heard from her in years."_

_"Feel free to scream."_

_"My baby--!"_

A woman screamed, and the bottom dropped out of the world. Snowy skies whirled away into black.

-0-0-0

"_Riddikulus_!" The Dementor dropped into the gaping mouth of a washing machine. The lid clanged shut, the machine whirring into action. Death by spin cycle. "HA!" Harry shouted. His Boggart vanished.

Kuwabara elbowed past Harry with a cry of "Yukina-chan!", dropping to his knees.

Harry stared as Kuwabara tenderly gathered Yukina off her brother, from where they both lay crumpled on the floor. This couldn't... the Dementor was _gone!_ It had only existed for a second or two at best! "What's wrong with them?" he blurted.

"I don't know," Kuwabara answered, more hoarsely. "I... what _was _that thing? It screamed in my head..."

"Boggart," Harry answered, as he slowly knelt next to Hiei. Blood trickled from the corner of the unconscious boy's mouth; he'd bitten through his lip. "Takes on the form of whatever you're most scared of. Mine's a Dementor. Those make you relive your worst memories."

Kuwabara went dead white. "That..." His gaze flew from Harry to Yukina, then Hiei, then back to Harry. Then he shifted Yukina over to the crook of one arm, and scooped Hiei up with the free one, getting a shoulder under the boy's weight. "Hospital Wing," he grunted through clenched teeth, shoving himself unsteadily to his feet. "Now."

"They'll wake up any minute," Harry protested, getting up as well. One hand hovered approximately in Hiei's direction. "A little chocolate and they'll be fine." Even if he'd never heard of anyone hit this hard by a Dementor before.

Kuwabara made a harsh, determined sound, which didn't seem to agree with Harry at all, and marched back down the corridor. Harry hurried in pursuit.

"Um... I can help carry them..."

That only got Kuwabara's grip tightening on both.

"Or not," Harry muttered. _Though _Mobilicorpus _would get us to the Infirmary faster_.

... On second thought, better to give Hiei the time to come to, rather than let him wake to Madam Pomfrey's fussing.

But by the time they reached the heavy double doors of the Infirmary, Harry wasn't so sure he was right. He shoved open the double doors for Kuwabara, catching Madam Pomfrey as she set a thick book aside.

The nurse's eyes went from Harry to Kuwabara, and his passengers. "Well," she said with a slight huff. "This is a first." Harry winced, sheepish, as she added, "Put them on the beds." Her wand flicked over two beds on the right, their blankets pulling off and folding themselves at the foot of each.

Kuwabara set Hiei down first, the boy flopping half onto the pillow, then turned to settle Yukina onto the neighboring bed.

"What _have _you been up to this time?" Madam Pomfrey asked, frowning at the trickle of blood on Hiei's chin. She tapped her wand once, cleaning the blood, then again to knit the wound.

"It was a Boggart," Harry said.

"A Boggart shouldn't do this, Mr. Potter."

"Mine's a Dementor."

"_That _makes considerably more sense." She summoned a couple Honeydukes bars off a nearby shelf, the candy sailing onto the nightstands with a soft thump.

Harry glanced at Kuwabara's face, blotchy and sickly-looking. He had to have gone white earlier for a reason... right? "Only it's been a good ten minutes."

Pomfrey gave him a sharp look. "I think you'd best start from the beginning, Mr. Potter."

"Uh..." _I have _no _idea how Kuwabara knew Yukina was in trouble or how he found her._  
"Okay, we turned the corner..."

It didn't take long at all to describe everything from the minute they saw Yukina. When Harry finished, Madam Pomfrey pinched her lips, and gestured to a row of visitor's chairs near the wall.

"Over there, both of you," she ordered, charming pajamas onto both patients.  
Harry knew better than to argue that tone of voice, and quickly guided Kuwabara backwards to the chairs. The older boy went too easily, folding into the seat with his eyes pinned to Yukina's still form. When he brought up his hands, clasping them in front of his mouth, Harry could faintly see an orange haze drifting around the clenched palms.

Yike. Definitely not leaving Kuwabara alone right now, even if Harry'd _had _any intention of getting dinner. Which he didn't. This was all his fault; he could've fired the _Riddikulus_ from anywhere in that corridor, but he'd just gone and leapt between Hiei and the Boggart like an _idiot_...

Minutes passed in silence broken only by the scratch of the nurse's quill, floating with two sheets of parchment behind the head of each bed, and her voice murmuring increasingly complex spells. One wreathed the beds in blue-tinged, scented smoke; the next played a simple, slow melody in two different octaves while the smoke died away. The one after that wove through the air in shining, pastel strands of light.

The doors creaked open once more, a red head of hair poking in. "Found him!" Ron shoved the door open fully and entered, hands in his pockets and Hermione in his wake. "We're gonna start looking here first when you're late, you realize that, mate."

"I told you he wouldn't be on the pitch," Hermione said absently. Her gaze darted from Kuwabara's drawn face to the too-still figures under Pomfrey's wand, eyes going slightly wider when a new spell lit up both patients like Christmas trees. "Harry..." she breathed, "what happened?"

"My Boggart."

Ron blinked, then turned to look at Hiei and Yukina. "Bloody hell, did they hit their heads when they fell or something?" Hermione smacked his arm. "What? I'm just saying! Harry was only out for like a minute that time on the train." He paused. "It didn't Kiss them, did it?"

Harry's stomach flipped over. "No!" Not that it would've worked. The Boggart would've switched back to that woman or the mummified child... Unless the Boggart got confused like it was supposed to? The mental image of Hiei being Kissed by a dead, ragged version of the woman ghosted across Harry's mind. "No. They... I blasted it. It was only there a couple of seconds."

"Then..." Hermione tore her eyes away from Pomfrey and her patients. "Maybe they've gone through something worse than what Harry did." The last word hung in the air, waiting for... demanding... an answer.

For a long moment, Harry thought Kuwabara wouldn't respond anyway. But then something twisted in the older boy's face, and his head sank behind his folded hands. "I met Yukina," he said hollowly, "when we rescued her from a very rich man who liked torturing things."

Hermione's gasp almost vanished under Ron's hissed curse. "H-how long?" she whispered, as if unable to stop the question. Knowing Hermione, she hadn't meant to let it out.

Silence. Then, "Years."

A long silence followed that. But eventually Ron shifted, and tugged his pendant out from under his collar. "Um... chess, anyone?" He winced under their shocked stares. "Just until they wake up. Then we can help..."

"Ron Weasley, you have _no _tact--"

"I'll play," Kuwabara said hoarsely. Hermione's mouth snapped shut.

Ron barely paused before hooking a chair out of the lineup with his foot. A quick spell lengthened the legs to create a makeshift table, and in a couple more seconds he'd expanded the tiny chessboard to a playable size and created his pieces, the white on Kuwabara's side.

The next half-hour or so (during which Madam Pomfrey stalked off to her office, and its attendant reference books, in a huff) left Harry wincing at the chessboard. Ron, fortunately, had managed to create pieces that were, depending on color, Muggle-style masked, helmeted, or hooded superheroes, or Dark creatures. He was also playing an almost completely defensive game, all but letting Kuwabara chase down his black pieces and bash them to rubble.

After the third blatant opening Ron didn't take advantage of, Harry decided that was on purpose. Normal, healthy venting, his aunt would've called it, though usually that involved irreversable property damage by her precious Duddy-kins on inanimate objects and smaller kids.

One of the knights pulverized a particularly gruesome Dementor-bishop, and went into an enthusiastic victory dance that startled a grin out of Kuwabara. But in the middle of the knight's piping cheers, a soft, high-pitched gasp cut through the infirmary.

"Yukina-chan!" Kuwabara yelped, practically levitating to her side, and almost knocking the chessboard and Ron over in his haste. He caught up her small hand ever-so-gently into his own, eyes bright.

"Kazuma-kun..." she murmured, a faint smile chasing the shadows out of her eyes. "You look so worried..."

He shook his head hard. "I'm fine. Really. How do you feel?"

Yukina's brow furrowed. "All right?" She paused, and her gaze turned slightly inward. After a moment, she admitted, "I've been better. What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Hermione asked, coming around to the far side of the bed.

Yukina turned confused eyes on her. "I don't..." Her face twisted. "My... my brother, and Rui-san, and then..." She shook her head, at a loss.

"That's probably for the best. You ran into a Boggart," Hermione explained. "Specifically, Harry's. They take on the form of whatever you fear most, and his fear hit you pretty hard."

"What I fear most...?" Yukina repeated, getting a nod. She gave them a blank look, gaze darting to Ron and Harry in turn before settling pleadingly on Kuwabara. "But I'm not scared of Rui-san. She raised me."

_Rui-san? _"Um, no," Harry cut in. "That's the woman, right? Hiei was closer than you. She's his Boggart."

"That's impossible. There's only one man who..." Yukina paused, something terrible coming over her face. Suddenly, she looked impossibly like Hiei. "Who's ever seen Rui-san," she finished in a whisper. Her free hand lifted, clutching at Kuwabara's. "Kazuma-kun... I need to see him."

Bewildered, Kuwabara helped her out of the bed and settled her next to Hiei, not even sparing a nod when the door opened and Kurama walked in.

The redhead stopped short two steps into the room. "Yu--" He cut the word off, taking the last few steps to the other side of the bed, face going impassive.

Yukina cupped a delicate, trembling hand under Hiei's chin, tilting his head up to the light to study his slack features. Harry bit his lip and edged back. There was something _broken _in the mask her expression had fallen into, something raw and bleeding that screamed a warning to every shred of... not survival instinct, no, because Yukina wouldn't hurt him. But right now, he got the feeling that the slightest wrong move would hurt _her_, the way Cedric had hurt him for weeks after the Third Task.

Her free hand turned upwards, a blade-thin disk of polished, silvery ice forming in the palm. It thickened and lengthened, turning lopsided, and when she glanced at the result her brow furrowed. Then she smashed the ice on the corner of the nightstand with a resounding _crack_, and plucked out the largest, jagged-edge piece, ignoring the cries of "Yukina-chan!"

No answer. Yukina brought the ice between her face and Hiei's, adjusting it til it hung about halfway between them; from this angle, Harry could see part of Kurama's reflection in it. She could probably see her own next to Hiei.

A long moment, and the ice fell from nerveless fingers.

"Take the charm off," she whispered.

She hadn't directed it at anybody, but Kurama answered. "I can't do that," he said softly.

Now Yukina finally tore her eyes away from Hiei. "You _knew_." Kurama met her gaze with an unreadable one of his own, and didn't answer. "Kazuma-kun. Take the charm off."

To his credit, Kuwabara didn't so much as flinch under Kurama's stare, as he took out his wand and pointed it at the bed. "_Finite Incantatum_," he said, barely more than a whisper.

The deep brown drained from Yukina's eyes, leaving them a red that was closer to black than Gryffindor. Behind him, Harry heard Ron take in a sucking breath.

"Thank you," Yukina murmured, giving Kuwabara a grateful glance before turning back to Hiei. Her face didn't quite fall back into the same stony mask as she poked insistently at Hiei's shoulder.

"Wake up."

No response.

"Wake _up._" A tiny muscle in Hiei's brow twitched. Yukina leaned closer, one hand fisting in the modest collar of the hospital pajamas. "Hiei." Her voice wavered, eyes going huge. "Please, _help me._"

Hiei's eyes snapped open, irises blazing that same deep red.

Yukina planted her hand in the center of his chest, tears brimming in her eyes as her face stretched in a wobbly, brilliant smile. "_Aniki._.." she breathed.

His eyes flew impossibly, bulgingly wide, and he screamed. Yukina hit the floor as he went into convulsions.

"Aniki!" she shrieked.

"Hold him down!" Kuwabara yelled, throwing himself at the limbs he could reach. Harry grabbed a foot and promptly got booted to the floor as well. He caught a glimpse of black and maroon robes, a whiff of summer leaves, and shoved himself to his feet in time to see Kurama tugging a wide, flat vine tight around bed and boy as Madam Pomfrey began another round of emergency spells.

Kuwabara lifted Yukina out of the way, the girl still shrieking, and tucked her against his chest as Hermione ducked past, charming a stray vine across Hiei's open mouth. It didn't muffle the screaming a bit.

"Make this thicker, don't let him bite his tongue off!" The vine obeyed.

"Grand mal seizure, cascading aneurysm, subarachnoid hemorrhage, anthroposophic dissociation," Madam Pomfrey rattled off, wand swishing. "Gandy," A House-Elf popped into existance. "Fetch Professors Snape and Dumbledore. _Venamendre_, _Deocculacer!"_

A spot of red appeared on Hiei's stark white headband, scarce inches from Hermione's hand. "He's bleeding!" she yelped.

Kurama's head snapped up. "No, don't!"

Hermione stumbled back from Hiei with a strangled shriek, his headband trailing from one clenched fist. A blazing eye (a _third _eye, violet on red) glared furiously in the center of Hiei's forehead, black haze roiling and lashing above it.

Kurama tore the headband from Hermione's grip, clamping it between his palm and the eye. He gave Hermione a furious look, ignoring the sharp cuts Harry could see lashing up the sides of his hands. Hermione ignored it, flicking the nearest end of the headband wrong-side up.

Black embroidery swirled across the interior of the headband.

"Oh Merlin," she whispered.

"_Accio _Anticonvulsive Application_, Accio _Soothesavaj! Get out of my way, Mr. Potter!"

Harry stumbled back, bumping into first Kuwabara (still holding a sobbing Yukina), then Ron, before landing heavily in one of the chairs.

"_Aniki_," Yukina whimpered. "_Aniki_..."

Ron made a strangled little sound, whipped out his wand, and pointed it at Yukina. "_Stupefy_." Yukina went limp in Kuwabara's arms.

"_What the hell was that for?_"

"She was killing him," Ron answered, voice two steps from hysteria. "She was..." He picked up a piece from the forgotten chess set: a perfect replica of Yukina, mottled more white than black. The rest of the pieces were white eyeballs and black people: Pomfrey, Kurama, Kuwabara and Ron, a Hermione with a thin streak of white; several more out of position but closing in fast. "Whatever she was saying, it's a threat to him."

"Brother," Kuwabara answered the unspoken question. "She was calling... him her brother."

The doors slammed open yet again, the rest of the Tantei (plus Genkai) rushing in. Snape and Dumbledore appeared behind them with a crack, their robes tightly in the grip of a House-Elf.

"Gandy is bringing Mistress Nurse's professors!"

"Yukina?"

"Hiei!"

Keiko stumbled to a halt, eyes pinned to Hiei. "Oh my god, it's _scrambling _him..."

Kurama looked over his shoulder at them. "The Jagan," he said bleakly. "I can't suppress it."

Botan grabbed Keiko's wrist, pulling her along behind the professors. Snape, with a disdainful glower at Harry's group in the corner, pulled the privacy curtain shut, and a Silencing Charm left his ears ringing with the lost commotion.

Yuusuke stormed over to them. "What the hell is going on?" he asked, jerking a thumb at the curtain. "I get to dinner and none of you guys are there, then Kurama up and leaves like something jammed a bug up his butt... that would be the whole 'you guys aren't there' thing, I'm betting... so the girls and I up and follow though the fucking stairs didn't feel like helping, and we get here just in time to find Hiei's..." He bit off the end of that sentence with a sharp curse. "What _gives_?"

As Kuwabara launched into an explanation, Ron settled in on Harry's other side, dragging the chess board along to stare at. The little black-piece people darted to and fro on the squares, smashing white eyeball pieces and somehow failing to make a dent in their numbers.

A small Hiei-pawn crumbled under an eye-piece, and Ron shuddered. "_Merlin_, Harry." Ron stared at his shaking hands. "I didn't even remember the set was out. If I hadn't spotted it..."

There was really nothing to say to that.

Eventually, Kuwabara got up and laid Yukina back on her bed, taking his chair along. He settled in for what was visibly going to be an all-night vigil, putting the chair where he could watch over Yukina and the curtain dividing her bed from Hiei's. Behind him, Yuusuke paced restlessly, prowling the width of the room and twitching at every bump of the curtain.

The night grew deeper behind the windows, shadows stretching out from the _Lumos Solaris_ hovering over the curtained space. Every so often, a bottle or jar would go sailing from Pomfrey's office and vanish through a fold in the fabric. The same Elf brought a tray of sandwiches that went untouched.

Outside, the moon rose.

Finally, the curtain swept open. Keiko and Botan came out first, leaning drunkenly against each other, faces drawn and pale. They were followed by Professor Dumbledore, weary and dull-eyed to the point of looking more ghost than man.

"We've managed to slow the process almost to a halt," he said, making Harry's blood run cold, "but... I'm sorry." Something shattered under Yuusuke's hand. "He's dying."

TBC

A/N's-

- Muggle-style superheroes: somehow, somewhen, somewhere, Arthur Weasley discovered comic books. That's the one and only time Molly used Obliviate, and the kids don't mention the incident out of sheer self-preservation.

- Grand mal seizure, cascading aneurysm, subarachnoid hemorrhage, anthroposophic dissociation: in order: the common idea of an epileptic fit, bursting blood vessels spreading through the body, the most dangerous way for blood to pool between the skull and the brain, and tearing apart the substructure of magic in a wizard's body. Obviously, I had to make up half the second and all of the last one.

- Venamendre: vein-mend

- Deocculacer: de-occult-lacerate: reverse-the-tearing-of-magic

- I picked white for the Jagan's chesspieces because white attacks first.


	19. Blood Ties

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's:

- a lot of early readers missed Kurama's entrance. My bad. It's been fixed now.

- Mirror of Utter Dark: dub translation is "Forlorn Hope"

- inspirational music: Diana Damrau, Der Holle Rache, aka "I hate this guy and you must kill him" aria (not directed at Hiei)

* * *

Ch. 19 - Blood Ties

_Venamendre_. _Deocculacer_. Slowly siphon off the lost blood. Two drops of a purple Sleeping Potion, three of Fullhydrate, and one spoonful of Blood-Replenishing Potion, each administered with an eyedropper. Adjust the oxygen flow for the added blood volume. Change the leaf covering the Jagan. Knot the newly-cleaned headband once more. Check the bedpan. Check the oxygen flow. Check Yukina.

Kurama blinked, abruptly noticing the night had faded into morning, when a jar intruded into his vision.

"Breakfast, Mr. Minamino," Madam Pomfrey said softly. A tray of covered dishes appeared on Hiei's nightstand. "You first, then him. Directions are on the jar." She yawned into her hand, setting the jar in an empty corner of the tray.

"Stimulant?" Kurama asked, offering her a split fruit rather like a peach-colored coconut.

She patted a flattened square bottle in her apron pocket. "I have my own, Mr. Minamino. But thank you."

Kurama shrugged and drank the remaining juice. The stuff tasted terrible, and he was going to have awful headaches when this was all over and he stopped taking it, but better than killing Hiei early because he'd not paid attention to the flower doing duty as an oxygen mask.

... Early being relative, of course. They'd be lucky to get two weeks, and Madam Pomfrey couldn't guess how many days there'd be before the damage the Jagan was doing became irreversible.

He caught himself before he tugged a lock of hair and the seed hidden there, shifting the move to pick up the tray and start methodically eating the bland breakfast. Silence fell over the Infirmary, broken only by Hiei's soft, labored breathing.

To be taken down by a boogeyman and a cheap curse--! The fork twisted in Kurama's grip, blunt edge biting into his palms, before he exhaled and deliberately pushed the tray away. Another minute adjustment to the oxygen flower, and he picked up the jar Madam Pomfrey left.

_Nutritive Liniment: __rub one generous palm full on the throat and sternum, three times a day at mealtimes_, the label read. _Do not use in conjunction with food, gastric potions, or Pepper-Up. Do not apply to broken skin._

Kurama unbuttoned Hiei's pajama top and unscrewed the lid with the same delicate pressure he used on his Rose Whip, his eyes stinging at the potion's astringent smell, and scooped out the required dose. His hands rested lightly on the soft point between Hiei's collarbones, before sliding upwards, fingers shying away from the thready pulse in Hiei's throat.

_He's so cold._ Hiei should've been a degree or two warmer than Kurama himself, or been cool in a way that suggested a banked fire, as he had at the winter solstice. Instead of banked, Hiei's fire felt of little more than ashes; fragile, and as pale as his complexion had gone under the tan... as if Kurama could feel the magical substance being eroded away.

As if a demon, made of as much magic as matter, would simply dry up without that magic, as surely as a human would without water.

Kurama snatched his hands away, barely hearing the door open. He did, however, hear the very familiar yelp.

"_Merlin_, Kurama!" Neville slung a knapsack under Hiei's bed and pressed one heavy hand high on Kurama's back. Kurama found himself nose-to-knees, tiny spots fading from his vision. "Head down. Breathe in. Out. Not too deep, okay?"

"What...?"

"You're dead white. When was the last time you ate?" Kurama waved at the half-eaten tray on the nightstand. "Oh. Should I get Madam Pomfrey?"

"No. No, I... had no idea I looked that bad." Kurama pushed himself half-upright, brushing his hair out of his face to offer Neville a false smile. "It's been a long night, that's all."

"Yeah," Neville murmured, searching out and finding a chair. "It... our dorm's been in a state," he said over his shoulder, a note in his voice that Kurama recognized all too well; Shiori had used it all through her illness, trying to help her little boy believe everything would be fine. "One of our own, you know? And, well, Hiei's not _popular_," Kurama almost snorted at the thought, "but there's a lot of upperclassmen who..." Neville trailed off, glancing sidelong at Kurama. "You kinda start to think teachers like him are invincible, I guess," he said more softly, before plowing on. "Then Ron and Hermione had a row, and Lavender and Parvati started scaring the younger years with portents and stuff, and the Quidditch team got into it and blew out the fireplace..."

"Yuusuke," Kurama muttered.

"He didn't _mean_ to... but it set off a lot of tempers. So what with people trying to sneak out, and the prefects shouting down the roof, and McGonagall and Filch and Genkai... well. I don't think half the House got any sleep at all."

"I hope you did."

"Didn't really need much. We've been sleeping the past three days." Kurama lifted a finger, and Neville fell silent as Madam Pomfrey bustled back into the room. She cast the colorful diagnostic spell, then her three healing charms in quick succession, holding the last one (the Siphoning Spell) while Kurama readied the eyedroppers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neville go pale as Hiei's blood soaked into a sponge.

"Here," Kurama murmured, tapping Neville on the wrist and directing his attention to the translucent flower over Hiei's mouth and nose. "The flower's adding oxygen to the air Hiei breathes, but Madam Pomfrey's going to administer a replenishing potion. When she does, almost a quarter of Hiei's blood will be restored at once, and the extra oxygen will throw Hiei's system out of balance." Kurama reached into the flower with his magic, feeling the faint echo of Neville's magic following his own. "It's a lot like hyperventilation. Not very threatening on its own, but it makes the blood vessels constrict. There are small tears appearing in Hiei's blood vessels, so," he kept an eye on the last, largest eyedropper, watching the Blood-Replenishing Potion flow slowly into Hiei's mouth, and lowering the oxygen output at that rate, "any extra pressure could cause more breaks and more internal bleeding."

Madam Pomfrey moved to take off the headband, barely dotted with damp spots and thin streaks of a drying brownish red. Kurama turned his and Neville's magic to the large leaf over Hiei's forehead. "Tranquilizer. The curse killing Hiei is centered under it." Pinching the stem between forefinger and thumb, he strengthened the potency while Madam Pomfrey charmed the headband, and its inner embroidery, clean. "It can't stay this strong for more than a minute, or it'll cause damage." Killing the Jagan would kill Hiei, plain as that. "The headband helps."

He knotted the headband back in place, slid their magic through the oxygenating flower again, and pulled free. "So?"

Slowly, Neville's brow furrowed. "The headband helps?" he echoed.

"It has a spell written inside it. Not my area of expertise..." Kurama trailed off, watching something thunderous pass over Neville's face.

"He knew," Neville murmured. "This whole time... he never took the headband off, not even to sleep. He's always had that curse."

"Yes." Kurama ran a hand wearily through his hair. "But he never mentioned how easily it could be set off. I'm going to strangle him." Even if he had to do it in those last few hours in Reikai.

A commotion at the door cut off whatever response Neville might've made.

"Take your ten minutes and--" the door banged into the wall, covering the rest of Yuusuke's sentence. "It's the right time in Tokyo!" He strode in next to a stone-faced Kuwabara, Quidditch robes billowing.

"As I was about to say, you may come in _quietly_," Madam Pomfrey said with a huff, twisting out of their way despite the inherent threat that she'd hex them right back out, as she'd done to Kuwabara the night before. "This is a sickroom and I expect some attempt at decorum."

Yuusuke twitched, an aborted move to duck away, a hint of red on his face. "Well," he said, more quietly. "Okay then. Long as we're clear on that." They crossed the room, Kuwabara making a beeline for Yukina and the chair he'd been forced to abandon at two in the morning, and Yuusuke stopped next to Kurama and Neville. "Yo."

Kurama favored him with a slight nod, while Neville said, "Morning."

"Not a good one. Don't you got somewhere to be?" Yuusuke asked, not unkindly. "That Forest thing?"

"The centaurs," Neville replied. "No. We're going to cancel."

Kurama's head snapped up. He hadn't yet explained about how the head stallion had snubbed him. "Neville..."

"You can't go anywhere right now," the boy said mulishly, as if Kurama would argue the fact.

"I know." Kurama took a deep breath. "But Magorian never expected me to come." When Neville showed no signs of making the logical leap, he clarified, "You're supposed to go alone this time."

One blink. Two. "But..."

Yuusuke's hand clapped down on Neville's shoulder, and leaned forward to say, in a low voice, "Look, Nev. Subtle hint? I wanna talk to Kurama before the damn game, and since everybody's gonna be there..." He tipped his chin towards Kuwabara, and his voice got a bit softer. "Might as well give 'em some family time, right?"

Neville's eyes went wide with chagrin. "I... _oh._ I should've thought of that," he muttered. "Kuwabara... I mean, he's completely gone over Yukina, and... um. I'll just go talk to Magorian." All the same, he hesitated, half-out of the chair. "If you're sure about sending just me...?"

"You'll do fine," Kurama assured him.

Something about that firmed up Neville's expression, and the boy left.

Yuusuke watched him go, then plopped down on the vacated chair in a swirl of red and gold robes. "How you holding up?"

"Quite well." Physically, at least. Kurama looked back at Hiei, the expressiveness he'd dredged up for Neville draining from his face. "It'll be something to see if he gives out first or I do."

"Not what I meant."

Kurama shrugged. "I'm only letting myself be deeply insulted at the moment." He didn't give Yuusuke the chance to react, instead tipping his head back towards Kuwabara. "How is...?"

"He's not doing so good," Yuusuke answered. "It was bad enough just with Yukina and Hiei, but then it hit that he's losing a brother before he really could be one. Even if all that hassling each other's kinda what brothers _do_."

"Aa."

Yuusuke exhaled noisily. "So. What's the plan?"

_That _got Kurama's attention. "What?"

"C'mon. You gotta be considering _something_ crazy, suicidal, and probably really illegal to save him, right?" A smirk that showed a bit too much fang. "And you're gonna end up needing some last-minute help to pull it off, so you might as well tell me now and save yourself the trouble."

Kurama stared for a long moment. Then he looked away, and softly murmured, "I'm open to ideas."

"Whoa," Yuusuke said, holding his hands up. "I only do crazy and suicidal ass-saving. I'm not so great at the probably-really-illegal part, and I don't got a lot of secret connections to tell me about Fancy Artifacts Of Ultimate Rescue either."

Kurama didn't answer. There was a reason he'd gone after the Mirror of Utter Dark, and it wasn't from having a wealth of other options.

After a long moment, Yuusuke sighed, letting his hands drop. "You sure you don't have any ideas...?" No answer. "So what are you going to do?"

Kurama's fingers clenched in the folds of his robes. "Find the man who did this."

"Well, _yeah_," Yuusuke said, unfazed. "You're gonna leave some for me, right?"

"Of course."

Yuusuke paused. "That's assuming Kuwabara leaves any for us."

Behind them, metal squealed far past its limits and snapped. As one, they both turned to look. Kuwabara was staring blankly at a hollow, painted iron bar in his fist, as thick as his thumb and broken clean off its place on Yukina's headboard. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers from the dent they'd made in the metal, letting the bar fall to the floor with a clang.

Yuusuke's breath hissed through his teeth. "Yeah, that'll be a 'no'." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and stood. "Look, I got a game." He paused, quickly gave Kurama's shoulder a squeeze, then turned and stormed off, muttering to himself. "Why the hell I'm playing, I dunno... you'd think they wanted a buncha hurt kids in here to keep you guys company or something."

"Don't break the stadium," Kurama called absently after him.

"Make things _difficult_, why don't you!" Then he was gone, leaving Kurama alone with Kuwabara and the patients in a ringing silence.

Finally, Kuwabara spoke. "Yukina's got dibs."

Kurama didn't look back, only inclining his head in acknowledgement. "She'll heal the remains for me."

That didn't need, nor receive, any response.

Silence descended once more.

The next couple of hours passed in a blur. Madam Pomfrey made the rounds with Hiei's charms and medicine twice more. A House-Elf brought a tasteless, too-large lunch and the Nutritive Liniment. Somebody in bloodied green and silver robes stumbled in, took the potion he was given, and made a quick escape, proving the House still held some survival instinct.

Then, nearly half past twelve, the door opened again and a complete stranger walked in. Tall and slim, the man had long red hair caught in a ponytail, a large fang hanging from one ear, and was wearing a heavy leather jacket. His steps faltered for a split second, eyes going wide in a freckled face, before he recovered. With a discerning look between Hiei and Yukina, he stepped up between the two occupied beds and smiled at Kurama. "Somebody call a cursebreaker?"

Kurama felt something thin and sharp twist deep inside his chest.

Kuwabara leapt to his feet. "Cursebreaker?" he echoed, voice hoarse and catching mid-word.

The man nodded. "Bill Weasley." Ron's brother, Kurama guessed. There was a definite family resemblence.

Bill held his hand, clad in a fingerless dragonhide glove, out to Kuwabara. "And you are...?"

"Ku... Kazuma Kuwabara." He paused, eyes going slightly wider. "I'm... dating Yukina. The sister," he added, unnecessarily.

Bill nodded. "Sorry it took so long to get here, but I had to negotiate some freelancing with the goblins..." His gaze flicked back to Kurama, and he pulled back, thumb brushing over his holstered wand before taking it out. Kurama's fingers twitched towards his hair, but Bill only continued, "You don't care about that." Summoning the abandoned chair, he settled himself on it and leaned back, one booted ankle resting easily on his opposite knee. His wand stayed out, at the ready. "For my credentials: I took top NEWTs, apprenticed in Italy, did my residency in India, and have worked the past several years in Egypt. I've broken and deactivated curses in tablets, livestock, fields, buildings, and people ranging from Muggles to goblins. So I have a broad range of experience, but I've never worked with Japanese curses." His eyes shifted back to Kurama. "Is that acceptable?"

"Of course!" Kuwabara blurted, before Kurama could say anything.

Bill's eyebrow went up minutely, questioningly, though Kurama didn't think Kuwabara noticed. Deferring to Kurama's authority, though he couldn't know Kurama was more personally involved with Hiei... "You're the available expert," Kurama murmured. "It will have to do."

Bill nodded, unoffended. "Which of you will know more about the patient's history?"

"Kurama," Kuwabara automatically replied, pointing.

"Then," Bill pointed at the curtains, giving Kuwabara an apologetic look, "mind giving us some privacy?" Kuwabara's head bobbed once in a startled nod, so Bill charmed the silencing curtains shut and set his wand aside on the nightstand. His entire attitude changed, the casual familiarity vanishing. Kurama got a glimpse of hard eyes before Bill's gaze dropped. "How should I address you?" he asked.

Warning bells went off in Kurama's head. "Kurama," he replied, eyeing the man.

To his credit, Bill didn't flinch. "I'm going to do my best to save him, but there's one more thing I should mention," he said, taking a deep, slightly shaken breath. "I've never worked on a demon before."

Kurama felt himself go cold.

Bill quickly added, "It's my _job_. I need to know these things on sight." He dared a glance up towards Kurama's eyes. "Any cursebreaker who lasts more than a couple months can see it. Although," he shrugged minutely, "I'm not sure what you are."

Good. Kurama definitely didn't like the idea that their cover could be blown so easily. "You won't be telling anyone," he said pointedly.

That gaze flickered up again, not long enough to identify the expression, before Bill inclined his head. "Of course not." He summoned a parchment and quill to hover in midair near him, then set his wand aside and reached for Hiei.

Kurama's hand clamped down on his wrist. "Look at me, Weasley-san." Dark eyes met his, hard and slightly too narrow. That was a familiar look. "I want to know why you won't kill him with that much hate in your eyes."

Bill's muscles flexed under Kurama's hand. "He rooms with my youngest brother," the man said, voice over-controlled. "They're smaller than my baby sister. I'm well aware that you're all likely older than me, but none of you are fully-grown for your kind." His eyes flashed. "I have _problems _with curses on children."

Even if he wasn't telling the truth, he wouldn't risk his siblings. Not in a family as close-knit as Kurama had seen the four youngest were. Slowly, Kurama released the man.

"Thank you." Bill settled his fingertips lightly at Hiei's temples, careful not to dislodge the loosely-draped headband. A soft violet haze formed around his hands, drifting into Hiei's skin.

Slowly, Hiei's flesh faded away under Bill's hands, revealing a web of muted gray light. The chair creaked under Kurama's hands. Sickly, multicolored spots were scattered among the strands; as Kurama watched, a thread near Hiei's shoulder snapped, trailing dark sparks.

"What...?"

"That's the theurgic system... the network his magic flows through," Bill said. "Much more complex than in humans. Dictation," he added, raising his voice. The quill leapt to attention. "Patient: Jaganshi, Hiei. Sixth year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, November 2nd, 1996. Patient is a full-blooded demon of Japanese origin..." Kurama shot upright. "Pause dictation." The quill's scritching stopped, a blot of ink dripping onto the floor, as Bill met Kurama's eyes again. "Cursebreakers have the best locks," he assured Kurama. "Nobody's going to read this but me... though I can erase that part if you prefer."

Kurama opened his mouth, then paused. "How important is it to write down?"

"Considering how likely I am to forget it?" Bill asked dryly. "Not very."

"Erase it."

Bill nodded. "Backtrack to 1996." The quill scribbled back over the line it had written. "Resume dictation. Physical development approximates wizard age fifteen. Patient is the inverted member of diametric twins," he paused for a moment, shaping words under his breath, then continued, "Ice element, manifests as fire. Theurgic system appears overdeveloped comparable to wizards of similar physiology. Codependent overlays have been implanted in the ajna chakra," _In_ it? Kurama thought the Jagan had just pushed the magical node nearest to it out of the way. "and right forearm, necessitating use of left hand for wandwork. Patient is otherwise healthy for his age group. New paragraph. Pause dictation.

"That's it for the general overview," he told Kurama. "The rest of this, I'm not going to be very responsive for, though the quill will still be taking notes. So before then, I have to ask... what's the cursed eye supposed to do? What should I expect?"

"It amplifies his powers," Kurama began, going through the various traits he'd observed and ignoring the little voice saying this wasn't his prerogative, these weren't his secrets to share. The remote viewing Hiei had gotten the damned eye for; the hypnosis he'd used on Keiko, the telepathy... the technique to power up that turned Hiei green and shook his grip on sanity...

"That'll be damage to the crown chakra," Bill muttered, quill scribbling away. "Not surprising, given the size of the socket. I'll check for scar tissue; there's probably a lot of it. Curses hold well in scars."

That wasn't exactly encouraging.

It took Kurama a moment to realize the quill had stopped.

"Look," Bill said, "I'm going to do my best, all right?" And that sounded so much like the doctors long before Shiori's cancer had become irreversible, that Kurama had to bite his lip and look away.

Bill started to reach for him, then visibly thought better of it and took hold of the bedframe in a move that looked almost natural. A quick tug pulled the bed just far enough from the wall for Bill to squeeze himself and the chair behind Hiei's head. "This'll take a while," Bill explained, fingertips finding the same spots along temple and jaw, thumbs burying themselves deep in Hiei's hair. "Figure you and Pomfrey won't want me in the way any more than necessary. Feel free to read what you can of the parchment."

Kurama turned the parchment to a better angle and settled down to wait.

With Bill there, the hours seemed to drag more slowly than they had through the night.

He now finished the hourly life-support routine with Madam Pomfrey by attempting to read Bill's notes, though the words seemed to be only gibberish and hieroglyphics, the quill sometimes writing left-to-right and sometimes right-to-left. Some of the symbols flickered in the corner of Kurama's vision... ice and fire, the flash of light off a blade... but were just simple ink once they'd caught his attention.

Occasionally, the quill would sketch a diagram in the margin, and these were only marginally more decipherable: arrowhead shapes following mazelike tangled lines of ink, often looping up off the parchment until the diagram scrolled away.

Then, a line in Japanese leapt out at him: _Yukina is not to know that Hiei is her brother._ Kurama paused, glancing back at the verb. _Yukina ni shirarete wa ikenai_...

That _bastard_. Hiei had let them all think... Hiei himself might've thought... that it was only that he couldn't tell Yukina they were related. But instead, she wasn't allowed to _know_. So since she'd figured it out on her own...

It made entirely too much sense in retrospect. The type of person who'd exploit a loophole such as, say, letting someone else tell Yukina who Hiei really was... was not the type of person Kurama would risk a Jagan on. But the doctor hadn't made allowances for Yukina figuring it out on her own, or somebody finding out and telling her without Hiei's consent.

That said a lot for how intelligent the doctor was.

Kurama's eyes narrowed.

If the doctor had watched the Dark Tournament, and seen Hiei's interaction with the rest of the team, he would definitely have taken precautions in case of this...

Dinner arrived and vanished, untouched, as Kurama considered his approach.

Finally, deep in the wee hours of the night, Bill took a shuddering breath and sagged in his seat. Soft violet mist streamed up from Hiei's body, swirling into the last, blank portion of parchment and leaving a human-shaped diagram of tiny symbols. The parchment rolled itself up with a snap.

Bill's eyes opened, and he pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "It's going to be difficult," he murmured, his voice leaving no room for doubt, "but I can save him."

TBC

A/N's -

- it sounds like an overblown reaction in Gryffindor House, but it would've been normal "Ron and Hermione fight, Lavender and Parvati scare the kids, the prefects try to restore order and McGonagall kicks everybody up to bed", except Yuusuke accidentally broke the fireplace. That made a lot of people mad and got more staff members involved.

- much, much, MUCH love to Asuka's friend for the language help, because otherwise I would've done something seriously stupid


	20. To Rune the Day

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's -

- protractor: for everybody who slept through math class, like I did, this is the tool shaped like a D, which you use to measure angles.

- requesting volunteer animators for The Best Defense: The Movie. Background, keyframe, inbetweeners, inkers (Photoshop colorers), and special effects. Please refer to Anomura The Padawan here at fanfiction dot net.

- any similarity to Resonant's "Transfigurations" is unintentional and was pointed out by my beta. Inspiration was actually FMA, Naruto, Slayers, and kbtwilight's school project book covers.

Ch. 20 - To Rune the Day

Rinseflower. Dittany. Foxglove. Leechroot. Bulrushes. Meadowsweet. Kurama tangled each seed of his most powerful, dangerous medicines snugly into the base of a thin lock of hair, rearranging his arsenal. His trunk, fetched by a suspicious House Elf after considerable bargaining, sat next to him, the secret compartments wide open. Tiny rose seeds, cleaned of their itchy hairs, stayed at his temples and the nape of his neck, where he touched when he pushed his hair out of his face. Along the hairline under his bangs, he added brambles and boxthorn. Less dangerous seeds, some of which grew to be edible, he culled; most went back into the trunk, the rest moved to the top of his head where it was hardest to reach them.

The dangerous medicines... poisons, in pure form or even moderate quantities... Kurama arranged closer to the back of his head, where he could get to them even injured, but not mix them with his weapons. Flowers whose pollen opened airways and could oversaturate the lungs, blood thinning nectars that could turn a moderate cut lethal, muscle relaxant sap that could stop the heart and diaphragm, paralysis fruit...

Clanking at the door caught Kurama's attention, and he casually slid the trunk under Hiei's bed with his foot as Botan peeked into the room.

Kurama's heart thumped painfully in his chest. There were only two possible reasons for Botan to show up, especially this early in the morning. "If you're here on business," he bit out, "leave."

Botan squeaked and vanished, ducking past Bill like Kokuryuuha itself was on her heels. The man bemusedly watched her go, then turned back to Kurama. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing important," Kurama replied, more quietly. Just Death looking in on Hiei.

Bill frowned, but let it go, simply opening the door to let several thick scrolls and a large knapsack float into the room like ducklings. They settled on the empty bed on Hiei's far side, and Bill followed them, seating himself on the thin mattress instead of a chair for a change. "Have you had any sleep since the accident?"

"I rest." In more of a trance state than actual sleep, but he'd passed the point where falling asleep was easier than staying awake. That and the drugged juice would keep him going til Wednesday or so.

"Hope your judgement's not shot yet," Bill sighed. "I've been going over my analysis." Kurama's attention sharpened. "Thank you for the translation, by the way. There are a couple of ways I can go about this. The more reliable way is to shift the wording of the curse a little bit. A lot of Egyptian tomb curses work along the lines of 'when sunlight next falls on this rock', which of course they then seal up in the dark. I usually switch 'sunlight' to 'sunset light', since most tombs face east, though 'Polaris light' works well too. Any star that won't shine into the tomb. Anyway, we could try that, but I'd need your help finding a Japanese sentence close enough that it'll actually fix the problem and break the trigger.

"The other way is less likely to take, but a lot easier. We would break the trigger by completely changing the conditions. I'd probably go with 'when Hiei's body dies and his soul is removed', since it won't matter what the eye's curse does then.

"I won't lie. The second way's much more dangerous. If the rewording doesn't take, it can irretrievably twist the curse and reactivate it. Hiei would probably last all of five extremely unpleasant minutes. But the first way... I can't think of anything that wouldn't just end up primed to go off again.

"Then there's the third option. It's not really an option at all, but it does--" The door slammed open. Bill and Kurama both glanced up, finding Ron in the doorway, a half-eaten breakfast roll in his mouth. "--exist," Bill finished. "Ron, what is it?"

"Mmf." Ron chewed and swallowed hard, casting a sheepish glance at Kurama. "Um. Sorry. I was hoping to talk to my brother?" Kurama gave him a level stare. "... Alone?"

"Can this wait?" Bill asked. Ron looked back at him. "Five minutes, even."  
"It's about Hiei."

Kurama went cold, and Bill stilled imperceptibly. "Unless it's really nasty," he began, with a quick glance at Kurama, "you can say it in front of Mr. Minamino."

Ron's eyes flickered back to Kurama, and he winced slightly at Kurama's look. "Um. It's just. Er."

Kurama sighed. "Spit it out, Mr. Weasley."

Ron winced, then leaned towards Bill. Not very quietly, he whispered, "Did you maybe get a look at his eyes...?"

Bill groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This isn't a storybook, Ron. Red eyes are just that, red eyes."

_Except_, Kurama thought, _for the little detail that this time, whatever Ron's thinking is probably right._

"Yeah. Okay," Ron muttered. "I get it, I'm being stupid."

Bill turned back to Kurama, leaving Ron to shift uncomfortably in place. "As I was saying, if neither of those options work, I can try to remove the curse entirely. I'd have to have a surgeon excise the eye and socket, reconnect the frontal lobes of the brain, replace the bone... that alone has maybe a fifteen percent chance of survival. Taking out the magical component drops it down to ten, with a fifty-fifty chance of becoming a Squib." Kurama flinched. A human might live without magic. Hiei wouldn't. "Assuming," Bill continued, pointedly not glancing at Ron, "he wasn't a twin."

"What's twins got to do with anything?" Ron blurted out.

"Twins..." Bill answered pensively, "They've got, for lack of a better term, 'sticky' magic. People's core magic latches onto something in childhood as it is. Twins go one better, latching onto each other. Hiei and Yukina were raised apart?" he asked Kurama, unnecessarily. "It shows. It's probably the reason Hiei survived the implantation and cursing in the first place; his magic would grab anything to fill Yukina's absence.

"Anyway. So if I have to take out the eye and the curse entirely..." Bill thought a long moment. "99 percent chance he'll either die on the table or wake without enough magic to live on. I'd be shocked if he lived to see Christmas.

"So those are our options. Which should I prepare to do?"

-0-0-0

Pain flared up from Harry's knees, stabbing at his ribs as the stairs jostled him a little too hard on his way. He winced, clutching at the bannister and breathing carefully through his teeth. It had been a stupid idea to leave the tower, really; yesterday's Quidditch game had been brutal, with the Slytherins cheating as usual and Yuusuke playing like a man possessed, but he'd had to get _out_. Even though Yuusuke and Kuwabara hadn't stayed in Gryffindor Tower, and Ron was well enough to sneak food for the rest of the team... the shadowy gap on the common room's windowsill was no more bearable than the untouched bed up in the dorm.

Normally, it wouldn't have been. How many times had Neville stayed the night in the Infirmary after an accident? Or Dean with a wizarding pox? Even Seamus'd had his turns in there, as had Ron. But except for the time Hermione had been petrified by the Basilisk, it had all been... well, accidents, and they'd never been ultimately _fatal_.

Harry slumped against the cool marble railing. If he hadn't jumped in like an idiot to fight the Boggart...

Hiei's death would be all his fault.

"Harry?" He froze at the somewhat familiar voice, then turned his head slightly to peer through his fringe. Keiko stood on the stairwell landing above him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, as calmly as if her friend wasn't dying a few floors down. Harry looked away, trying not to notice when she stepped down and sat next to him. "Did Kurama chase you out too?"

"No," he muttered. He hadn't even tried to... "What's the _point_ of visiting?!" he blurted out.

"To show support," Keiko replied instantly. Then she made a rueful little face. "Seems silly to picture Kurama needing it. He won't let anyone in."

No kidding. Harry shook his head. "He wouldn't want me there anyway."

"What?"

_Thought she was a Ravenclaw_. Did he really have to spell it out? "It's my fault," he muttered.

She gave him a strange look. "That... Hiei was safely in the hospital when the curse went off?"

Now it was Harry's turn to stare. "What?"

Keiko looked away. "If your... Boggart, was it?... hadn't knocked Yukina out, the curse would've gone off down near Hufflepuff." A long moment, then Keiko continued, more pensively, "When I reached in there... I felt the curse working. How _fast_ it was working. Hiei..." she paused, then swallowed, gaze unmoving from the far wall. "Without a doctor right there, we'd be planning Hiei's funeral right now."

Harry stared, agape, and Keiko huffed in exasperation.

"Boys!" she muttered, before standing and poking him in the shoulder. "You got lucky this time, okay? Accept it. Now come on, I saw how you were moving. I know the Ravenclaw nursing students. We'll get you fixed up."

Harry winced. Keiko had sounded oddly like both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley right then. _Must be a girl thing_, he thought, pulling himself painfully off the step. Best to just knuckle down and ride it out.

-0-0-0

Draco, of course, had a very nice, powerful, expensive bruise balm that worked wonders when Cushioning Charms and superior flying skills weren't enough. Pity he'd had to waste a full jar 'forgetting' it in the locker room to maintain goodwill and safety.

Damn Kurama! Nobody had seen the demon more than ten minutes in the past week, and this was not the time for him to mysteriously vanish. Draco was getting a definite sense of blood in the waters of Slytherin: people he _knew _to be related to Death Eaters were eyeing his monitoring bracelet just a little too long. With the most favored Houses all stirred up over some curse and Boggarts and a bunch of failed wannabe pranksters in Hufflepuff, this was a very good chance to get away with plots under Dumbledore's nose. And Kurama. Wasn't. Here!

It was becoming all too evident that Draco's protection was down near the bottom of the demon's priority list.

_Nobody_ ranked Draco at the bottom of _anything_.

There had to be a way to take advantage of this obvious lapse in judgement, though. If they weren't paying attention to his safety, they weren't paying attention to Draco... For all the good it did him.

He glowered at the heavy bracelet on his wrist. Trista's portrait raised one imperious eyebrow, ruining the effect with a grin.

"Isn't there _any_ way to block you?" he asked plaintively.

She only shook her finger at him and smiled.

-0-0-0

"This is rather involved for core magic," Kurama remarked, eyeing the circle Bill was inking on the floor. Most core magic was simply grab-and-go; that was the whole point of teaching it. But since Bill had laid out Hiei's treatment options, he'd spent a day and a half in the furthestmost corner of the Infirmary, marking out a two-meter-wide circle with a pencil, ruler, and a plastic Muggle protractor. This he'd covered with three lines of penned symbols: curled Sanskrit for the innermost circle, then a wavy cursive in the opposite direction, then spiky runes that Kurama couldn't identify.

"You should see me in a fight," Bill replied. "I only ran 'search' on Hiei. Search-and-wipe-out... whole different story." He bent to paint in delicate arrows between the middle and outer scripts. "This'll confine the 'wipe out' part to the right parts of the trigger, then invert my power to rebuild them with duds."

Kurama dropped a larger daub of nutrient potion onto Hiei's chest, rubbing slowly. Wipeout, invert to rebuild... _I don't like the sound of that._ "Your magic's destructive?"

"Curse_breaker_," Bill remarked. "But don't worry, I'm taking every precaution." To underscore the point, his protractor spun to line up at a spot a quarter of the way down a line bisecting the circle, and he ticked off several pencil marks against specific angles. The ink came back out, and he swirled astrological symbols over the pencil marks. Then he banished everything but the quill and inkpot to a bedside table across the room, and smiled up at Kurama. "Lift him up over here, if you would? And I don't have to remind you not to smudge anything."

Kurama forcibly quelled a thrum of nerves in his stomach. It was time, then.

Setting the nutrient potion aside, he tossed the covers over the footboard of the bed and tugged Hiei to sit vaguely upright. The small demon's head lolled bonelessly against his sticky chest, looking almost broken between the two sides of his unbuttoned pajama top. Kurama refused to shudder, only tipping his shoulder up under Hiei's cheek and settling the limp weight against the crook of his neck.

"Shirt off," Bill added helpfully, and Kurama stripped the cotton away. Then he wrapped both Hiei's arms around his neck and carried him over to Bill, stepping carefully over the inked characters.

Bill made an aborted move to help lay Hiei down, merely tapping the arc of astrological signs near one end of the central space. "Head up here, feet down the line there." Kurama arranged Hiei under Bill's direction, then went to lock the door. Bill might be able to work with interruptions, but Kurama refused to risk it.

Behind him came an audible _zap_ and a muffled curse. Kurama snapped back around, but Bill waved him off with a lopsided smile, shaking his free hand out in the air. Bandages trailed over Hiei's stomach.

"'Ello, there," Bill hissed, eyes narrowed at Hiei's arm. "Nasty little bugger, aren't you." Another shake of his hand, and he summoned a long black bag from his supplies. "_Charlie _would know how to be nice about this," he muttered, as he wrestled the bag over the Kokuryuuha. More alarming sizzling sounds went up.

"Problems?" Kurama asked, fingertips itching to reach for his hair. He fumbled behind himself and locked the door instead.

Bill shook his head. "Nope. Just a grumpy killer with a metaphorical thorn in his-- hah!" He pulled the drawstring closed and replaced Hiei's arm on the floor with a gentle pat. "Stay put and try not to take the kid's arm off," he told it.

"So," he continued, turning to Kurama. "I know you read the curse. If you please, write it out in your language here." Bill brushed a knuckle lightly over the bruise-mottled skin between the Jagan and Hiei's hair. Kurama took the quill, but paused, eyebrow raised. Bill explained, "I'd rather not risk my handwriting on an unfamiliar language. I've set up a translation arc in the circle."

Kurama bent and jotted out the sentence in crisp kanji. English words bled up from the floor outside the circle, curving to nestle along the runes.

_Yukina is not to know that Hiei is her brother._

"Great. Perfect." Bill reached into his pocket and put a large, flattened river rock above Hiei's head. Then he stood and left the circle, crooking a finger for Kurama to follow.

Kurama found his voice again. "Is that...?"

"New curse trigger," Bill said simply, head tipping at the stone.

As long as it worked, Kurama thought, kneeling a few steps to the side and behind Bill, where he could see without being in the way.

Bill stretched his left hand out over the circle, pulling his wand with his right. "_Seco._" Blood splattered over the stone floor, and the circle thrummed to life, glowing white gold. A sudden breeze tugged at Kurama's hair.

Bill pinched his thumb and index finger into the wound, then, dragged his thumb over the second-to-last word in the English. It flared black and sizzled away, as did the matching word on Hiei's forehead, smoke blowing to nothing as the wind picked up.

With his index finger, Bill wrote Yukina's name in the blank space. _Yukina is not to know that Hiei is Yukina's brother._ Then he smeared out a word again; this time, the first one.

Everything went blindingly white. Twisting wind tore at Kurama's hair. He yanked it out of the way in time to watch Bill write a final letter in the new blank. _This rock is not to know that Hiei is Yukina's brother._

The power snapped off.

Hiei didn't move.

After a long moment, Kurama did. He swallowed past a tightening in his throat. "Did it work?"

"I..." Bill exhaled a shuddering breath. "I felt it take." The world edged black for a dizzying moment, anchored only by Bill's relieved, genuine grin. "Guess I get to live," he quipped.

Kurama felt the world thump back into place. "Looks like," he answered, barely more than a whisper. Then his mind caught up with the meaning, and his eyes snapped up to meet Bill's "Wait, weren't you sure?"

"Didn't give myself the option. Nobody'll use an uncertain cursebreaker. That's what all the prep work's for... you don't get take-backs." Bill shuddered, head slumping downwards. "Bloody hell am I glad I wasn't lying. I don't think I can stand."

"I think I'm going to sit here for a few moments myself," Kurama replied, head spinning. Hiei would live. It didn't matter whether Bill had been bluffing or coasting through on bravado or only 90 percent sure or what. It _didn't_.

When Hiei woke up, they were going to have a _very _long talk about potentially lethal weaknesses and how not to have to rely on the luck of strangers.

"You do that," Bill muttered. _Do what...? _Kurama thought, before realizing the drugs were wearing off. Maybe he _should _sit here til he had worked through the worst of it. Bill added, "We'll just wait for Madam Pomfrey to come and spell us into beds."

A long moment passed, before Kurama sheepishly admitted, "I think I locked her out."

-0-0-0

TBC

A/N's -

- why not just _Obliviate _Yukina and have done with it? One, the curse doesn't allow for the chance that Yukina would forget, so it wouldn't turn off if she somehow did. Two, Obliviate just leaves the situation wide open for her to rediscover it all and set off the curse again. The rock works because it cannot under any circumstances "know" a darn thing.


	21. Visitations

Warnings, disclaimers, you know the drill.

A/N's -

aniki: elder brother, more formal and respectful than the "(o)niisan" Yukina's been using throughout the ruse

imouto: younger sister.

Unreliable narrators for the win. Sigh.

-0-0-0

Ch. 21 - Visitations

Hiei woke feeling like something very small had flayed through every centimeter of his veins. He choked on an instinctive gasp, his head flooding with the scents of stale blood, fresh potions, and way too many people.

The hospital, then. With (_greenery, frost, the seared-ozone tang of gold ki_) Kurama, Yukina, and the damned oaf.

A soft sound made him crack open his eyes. White blur, blue blur, red blur... he blinked, and the world resolved into Kurama, fast asleep in the next bed over and looking ashen and worn enough that he'd obviously done _something_ extremely stupid. Hiei frowned and rolled his head, finding Yukina hovering over him on the opposite side of the bed, with Kuwabara standing behind her. She was clutching at the collar of her striped pajamas with one hand, apprehension etched deep into her face. "A...aniki?"

And with that, Hiei knew she'd figured it out. He flinched, but nothing seared through his skull (_again_, the notion ghosted across his mind and was gone). No curse. That goddamned lying _cheat_ Shigure... there was supposed to be a curse.

His sister looked like she wanted to cry.

Dammit.

"Yukina," Hiei acknowledged, the air like sandpaper in his throat.

Her expression cracked. Then, with a wordless cry, she flung her arms around his neck, collapsing against his chest. "I thought you were dead!"

... what?

Hiei's eyes snapped up to the idiot witnessing this. Kuwabara turned away, snorting a poorly-concealed laugh into his hand, and Hiei instantly schooled his expression to glare daggers at the man. "I hurt too much to be dead," he grumbled.

That got an even less-concealed laugh, this time with Kuwabara meeting his gaze with too-bright eyes, and a thump on his shoulder from Yukina's fist. Then she pushed herself up a few centimeters, hair falling loose around her wobbly smile and tickling at his throat. "That's not funny," she told him. Her fingers curled more tightly in his collar, anchoring him in place... not that Hiei thought he could move.

"Wasn't meant to be." Even if Kuwabara was laughing at _something,_ holding most of it in so hard tears were streaming down his face. Humans were so weird. "What happened?"

Yukina stilled, her expression shifting. "The Jagan," she replied, soft and almost hesitant. "It... it had a curse..." She paused, barely long enough for Hiei to think _There was?, _before she rushed on. "There was a sort of shapeshifter in the corridor, an animal that mimics people's fears, they said. When I realized Rui-san was taken from _your _memories..."

Rui. The dizzying rush when the ground had dropped out from under him, the heartstoppingly cold roar of wind so like his fall from the island... something tattered and shadowy black, screams tearing his ears and throat...

Of _course _Yukina would've known. "The curse went off," Hiei finished.

She nodded, and let her eyes drop to the place where she gripped Hiei's pajama top. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Ice lumped in Hiei's chest, not from Yukina's power but the sheer _wrongness_ of hearing that. Hiei stared, speechless. She... couldn't possibly think... but that was _ridiculous_!

Slowly, Yukina seemed to diminish under Hiei's eyes. "I... see," she murmured. Slim fingers slid free of Hiei's pajama top. "I'll just..." Her voice trailed off, as she cringed away.

Hiei's hand snapped over Yukina's wrist, the soft slap like a thunderclap in the silence. Red eyes shot to meet Hiei's, wide with shock.

"I..." Hiei had no idea what to say. But there had to be something, as instinctive as catching Yukina had been. "... I was eight years too late."

Her eyes gentled, still pained. "I can't blame you for that," she whispered.

Hiei waited. He couldn't think of anything else to say... but he could see the moment she understood what he'd meant, a light flickering on in her eyes with the realization that _he couldn't blame her either_.

Yukina's free hand curved over Hiei's. "Oniisan..."

Just this once. Just in case the curse was biding its time. Hiei loosened his grip, curling fingers around Yukina's. "Hey, _imouto_."

A few seconds later, he was still alive, and Yukina's smile broke out like the sun from behind winter clouds: weak, tremulous, but bright.

They spent the next few hours talking quietly. For all that she knew as much about Hiei as most of the other Tantei, Yukina still had plenty of questions to fill the time. And the idiot, surprisingly enough, had retreated to stand guard from behind the privacy curtain. It couldn't keep him from hearing them, obviously, but it was... polite.

Only the fact that it was Kuwabara, who was too stupid with his 'honor' crap, let Hiei relax enough to pretend he wasn't waiting for a knife in the back. Which, in turn, kept Yukina relaxed and happy... until sometime shortly after noon, when their conversation was interrupted by Kuwabara rapping sharply on the back of his chair.

"Visitor," the boy called, before peering around the privacy curtain. His mouth was twisted in a lopsided grimace of a smile, one that was obviously taking a lot of effort to not be a smirk. "You up for seeing anybody?"

Lie and say he wasn't, just to see the look on the idiot's face, or play into Kuwabara's challenge? No contest, even if Kuwabara wasn't deranged enough to have questioned Hiei's strength so subtly on _purpose_.

Hiei inhaled carefully, picking out the scent of dragonskin and human male. Nobody he knew off the top of his head... there weren't a lot of strangers who would visit, though. "Let him in."

Kuwabara pushed the curtain aside, letting the man pass.

Way too much leather to fight for long in, Hiei noted first, then the holstered wand, red hair, and professionally pleasant expression. Not a doctor, unless wizarding Britain had weirder customs than Japanese humans with their 'scrubs' and 'lab coats'. That left... ah.

"Cursebreaker," Hiei muttered. Ron had mentioned the job, and the man had red hair. "Weasley."

The man grinned, sketching a weirdly European bow. "Bill Weasley, at your service."

If the man was anything like his brothers, the worst Hiei had to beware of was bad jokes... and a savior complex. He faked relaxing back into the sagging mattress, letting a smirk tug at his mouth. "The hero of the day, hm?"

He got a sharp, suspicious look from Kuwabara, but Bill only nodded cheerfully. "Yup."

"I hate heroes."

Bill blinked. Then his smile took on a hard edge. "Boy, are _you _in the wrong House." This time, Hiei blinked, as Bill bounced right back to professional cheer. "Anyway, no time to beat around the bush, I'm afraid. I'm on my lunch break."

Kuwabara frowned. "Why don't I like the sound of that?"

_Because you aren't a_ completely _hopeless moron_, Hiei thought.

"Because," Bill began, echoing Hiei's thought, "he owes me his life." Hiei cursed mentally as Bill's attention turned back to him. Almost apologetically, the man said, "I'm going to have to request payment."

Dammit. He knew way too much about how this worked. "I take it back," Hiei grumbled. "I like heroes. They're stupid enough to save people for free."

Bill choked on a laugh. "I _like _you," he said over Kuwabara's indignant yelp. "So the bad news is, between impressive job qualifications, distant and lonely postings, and hazard pay, Gringotts pays its cursebreakers ridiculously large amounts of money. I'm not interested in gold."

"No," Hiei snapped, glaring daggers at Bill. Whatever it was, favors instead of money... no.

Yukina laid gentle fingertips on top of his wrist. "Hiei-niisan, let's hear him out."

Unfazed, Bill waited.

Dammit. Hiei couldn't refuse Yukina anything. After a long moment, he gave one curt, miniscle nod.

Bill continued, "What I _am _interested in is shutting the twins up." His smile twisted ruefully. "They haven't quit bemoaning the loss of some kitsune's hair for the past six months."

Rage flared fire through Hiei's veins.

Nobody. Touched. Kurama.

But vaguely, he could hear Bill finish, "So I'd like one strand of yours, please."

And just like that, the fire cut out, the edges of Hiei's vision clearing. One strand of... _his_? "What?" Hiei croaked.

"I wouldn't ask for Miss Koorime's," Bill inclined his head kindly at Yukina, seemingly unaware of his close call. "The color's too distinctive, as is Mr. Minamino's. Besides, I haven't yet figured out what he is, and I'd rather the twins have identified ingredients. If you'll pardon the term." Then Bill's grin went conspiratorial. "I figure, if you agree, that I can make a deal with the twins: I find one demon hair or similar on my next business trip somewhere exotic, and they leave off about the one they lost. Then I'd hide the hair in my vault until after that trip, so they couldn't guess it was you."

Hiei stared. The man was _crazy_.

"Which means," Bill pointed out, "that I'd trick the twins, which is always funny, by giving them something they could've had in abundance if they'd just raided your hairbrush last year."

Ah. _There _was the real motive. "So it's revenge," Hiei stated.

"Sure." Bill shrugged. "Why not?"

Hiei studied Bill for a long moment, then cursed and looked away. _I'm going to get myself killed one of these days_, he thought viciously even as he raised a hand to his head, tugging his fingers through the coarse spikes. His hair hadn't been brushed for too long; a number of shed hairs tangled freely around his fingers, dark and wiry against the loose weave of his bandages.

Thick fingers started to clench reflexively into a fist, but Hiei forced them open and jabbed his hand brusquely out at the man grinning like a first-year at Christmas. "_One_," he warned, not trusting that bright smile.

Bill delicately pulled a single hair from the tangle, and folded it into a handkerchief he took from his pocket. "Thank you," he said, bowing deeply.

"Go away," Hiei said. He was tired, but he wasn't going to fall asleep with a curse-breaker who wanted his hair still in the room.

Bill left.

-0-0-0

"But I need to see him!"

Harry turned the corner in time to see Yuusuke, leaning easily against the Infirmary doors, uncross his arms, hands shoving in his pockets. "Sorry," the boy said, just sympathetic enough to keep his expression neutral. "It's still family only."

Hermione's face fell. "But... they said he's awake." _And okay_, her tone added, the words left unspoken.

"Just 'cause he's awake doesn't mean he _should _be," Yuusuke answered. He paused, then hastily went on, "He's out of the woods and gonna be okay, yeah, but he's gotta get some rest. Which," he grumbled, "he won't with people tromping in and out of the room all the time. Even Madam Pomfrey... even _I'm _stayin' out til they've got a private room set up."

Harry could buy that. Hiei was paranoid enough to have protections on his bed when he was in perfect health; he had to be scared almost out of his mind to be this sick. Walking closer, Harry raised a hand to Yuusuke when he got in range enough to be polite. "Come on--"

She almost jumped out of her skin. "Harry!" she yelped, spinning.

"Sorry." Harry caught Yuusuke's grateful half-smile over Hermione's shoulder. "But it can't be that important, can it?"

"Well..." she hedged. "I just had a question about my tutoring..."

Harry stifled a groan. "_Merlin_, Hermione!" Figured. It just _figured_. He hooked his hand around her elbow and tugged. "Let's get you out of here before somebody with a lot less patience than Yuusuke hexes you or something."

"But you don't _understand_..."

Harry cast a quick glance back at a poleaxed Yuusuke, nodded a goodbye, and pulled Hermione off in a random direction. Once out of sight, he met her slightly wild eyes. "How long have you been winding yourself up about this?"

"Er..."

Translated, that meant 'too long'. "Right. You can't, I dunno, study for NEWTs or something?"

"I do."

"Trancewriting?"

"I'm up to eight pages."

"Extra credit?"

"They won't give me any more."

"... There's this thing called 'sleeping'. I hear it's rather popular. You might want to try it."

Hermione poked him, getting the ticklish spot under Harry's ribs, and Harry flinched away with a laugh. "I _do _sleep!" she protested.

"For how many hours a night?" Harry asked, still grinning.

"More than you were getting last year," she retorted. Then, she paused. "How _are _you sleeping?" she asked.

Harry sobered. "The visions are getting weird," he told her frankly, remembering how it had started like a real dream.

Hermione frowned. "Weird how?"

So he told her. How the dream had started deep in the lake, with books swimming and turning into gillyweed in his hands... how the lake's water ebbed to a clinging, blue-green fog, how the mist guided his hand to the silver-framed paintings and stabbed viciously at the oblivious images... how Voldemort's voice, fuzzing in and out like a poorly-tuned radio, ordered someone to 'take the three first' and that he 'didn't care about about the Muggles'...

Throughout his explanation, Hermione's frown deepened, brow furrowing while interest flared ever-higher in her eyes. "Harry... it sounds like there's something going very, very wrong here."

Well, yeah. "How so?" Harry prompted.

"I'm not sure. It's only... well, they've been so true-to-life that they've been good intelligence," Hermione explained. "Which is probably why everybody's let it alone for so long. But now..."

She didn't have to finish the thought. Harry got the idea.

Her gaze flickered around the corridor they were in, landing on a statue of Boris the Bewildered, then her head snapped around unerringly to a junction they'd just passed. "We need to study visions."

Harry blinked once. Twice. "I thought you hated Divination."

"Not _Divination_," Hermione said witheringly. "There has to be _something _serious about magical links." Harry jolted, and she rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that, Harry, it's obvious you have one with him. Anyway, we need to find some real books on how visions between wizards work. You can't be the first wizard stuck to another's mind."

The fleeting image of himself, with a tiny, struggling, upside-down Voldemort glued to the top of his head like some sort of hideous hat, popped up for just a moment before Harry managed to banish it... mostly by dint of realizing where Hermione's focus was aimed.

Oh Merlin no. "Can't you try that trancewriting thing?" he asked, pretending it hadn't come out as a whine.

She gave him a look familiar from years of last-minute scrambles to do homework. "_Honestly_, Harry! Do you have any idea what I'd get looking for 'visions'? Fifteen hundred pages of everything from eyesight charms to Muggle religion." She shook her head firmly, a poorly-hidden smile tugging at her mouth. "No, we're going to do this the right way."

Harry groaned. "To the library?"

"To the library!"

-0-0-0

TBC

A/N's -

Jo: What the heck happened to your deferential reverence towards demons?  
Bill: It figured out that this one can't attack, the other hair-trigger guy is crashed, the girl's a Hufflepuff and will at least give me fair warning, and all three of them owe me his life. So it went on vacation to Tahiti.

Jo: No wonder your mother fears for all your lives.

Also:

Yuusuke: I have patience? ... I thought I was just that bad at hexes that I didn't want to try to Silence her. Patience. Man, my reputation is _ruined_.


	22. Scuffle

Warnings, disclaimers, so forth.

A/N's -

- okay, the "aniki" thing is a huge mess. Nobody can give me a straight answer on how formal it is compared to any variations of "oniisan". However, though I can't remember if I read this or my Japanese teacher explained it or both, I suspect that the truth of the matter is that "aniki" is part of the language small children use. (Which is the most humble form given the social status of small children, but is somehow lacking the English equivalent's informality. Arrgh.) However, I doubt that one would use "aniki" to refer to a non-related male older than you but not particularly old, as one can use "niisan". So. Yes. Since I can't get a definitive answer, that's my explanation and I'm sticking to it.

- anya, I'm sorry, but I'm not into Fruits Basket

-0-0-0

Ch. 22 - Scuffle

Ron joined them as the sun slanted towards the horizon, a wry smile hovering around his mouth as Hermione promptly set him to helping with the search. Fortunately for them, in Harry's opinion, she had very specific requirements for what sort of book they were looking for: a 'serious' work, no bright colors or moody-looking women on the dust jacket (if there was one), and as little gold leaf as possible. Basically, if it looked like it belonged on Trelawney's shelf, it wasn't acceptable.

Unfortunately, books like that made up the majority of the Divination section and the shelves nearest it. Worse, it got harder to see anything but the bright colors and foil embossing as the sun crept lower in the sky.

The poor light made a great excuse for grabbing all the wrong books, though.

"Good _Merlin_, no!" Hermione squealed in horror. A few flecks of gold and silver leaf fell loose into her hair as Harry shook the book menacingly over her. "Get that thing away from me!"

"But Hermione," Harry protested, laughing, "it's the truest book here!"

"I've _seen _you use that for your homework!"

Ron uncurled himself from the shadowiest depths of the lower shelves, sitting back on his heels with a slim, lurid pink book held gingerly between two fingers. His face had gone distinctly green, noticable even in the ruddy lamplight. "Please tell me we can skip anything with 'soulmates' in the title."

Harry's stomach lurched, and he nearly dropped _It's All In Your Mind_ on Hermione's head.

"Not only can you skip it," Hermione answered, twisting out from under the book, "I will have to hex you if you try to read it." She paused. "It would be for your own good, of course."

Ron made a face. "Why do we have this junk anyway?"

"_Faculty_," Hermione said, in the same withering voice she'd use to say _Trelawney_, "are encouraged to add to the library." She plucked the pink book out of Ron's hands and dropped it fastidiously on the 'reject' pile. "Can we stop messing about and _try _to focus on making sure Harry isn't under an evil spell?"

Harry looked away, catching a glimpse of Ron doing the same. "Yeah," they mumbled.

"Sorry," Ron added.

Harry just turned back to the shelves, reaching up for a dark spot about the width of his hand on an upper shelf. Leather brushed against his fingertips, and he thumbed out the second book from the left. The cover was flattened from age and tight shelving, enough so that he couldn't really make out the title, so he opened it to the title page.

That book went back in the gap, and he caught out the next book. Then a third.

_Visionary: An Overview of Astral Symbiosis from 500-1900 AD_, its title page read, and he turned it so Hermione could see. "Is this okay?" Harry asked.

Her jaw dropped. "What..." she sputtered. "How...?"

Ron's head curved over her shoulder. "There it is," he murmured, mouth quirking up in satisfaction.

"_How did you do that?!"_

Harry faked a frown for Hermione. "You don't really think we're creative enough to reinvent my gory death twice a week for three years, do you?"

Her mouth snapped shut, and she glanced at Ron, who offered up an identical pity-me look. "Yeah, it was hard work," he explained. "We've slaved over these books a few times. You kinda notice the plain ones when all the rest are..." he gestured at the brightly-colored reject pile, "... like _that_."

"You..." Hermione growled, "you... ARRGH!"

Harry decided that her face was completely worth the revenge she was bound to take.

-0-0-0

The next time Hiei woke, it was to find Kurama sitting up in a comfortable armchair, the rumpled sweater and slacks from earlier exchanged for school robes, a few tendrils of wet hair curling against his face and neck.

Hiei's eyes flicked up to meet Kurama's flat stare, then settled on the dark circles still visible under green eyes. He suspected he didn't want to know, but the question spilled out before he could stop it. "What stupid thing have you done to yourself this time, fox?"

Not so much as a flicker of reaction passed through Kurama's mask. "Kept you alive after Keiko shored up your connection to the Jagan," he answered. "Which," he added mildly, "I'm given to understand was rather like keeping a spider in its web by dumping glue on it, but it worked."

Right. He hadn't wanted to know. He flopped back over, ignoring the instinct that said turning his back on a Kurama with _that _expression was a stupid idea, because the damned fox would do something...

"Did you know about the curse?"

... like that. "Don't be an idiot," Hiei grumbled into his pillow.

"That seems to be what I have you for," Kurama replied slowly, testing. As if he hadn't figured out exactly what Hiei meant, that Hiei wouldn't be staying so calmly in bed instead of plotting how to kill Shigure if he hadn't known about the curse. As if he was just waiting for Hiei to lie and point Kurama's temper at Shigure.

One of these days, Hiei was going to regret not being a snivelling coward. "Some men can't be paid in gold," he muttered. No way could Kurama mistake that for a 'no, I didn't know'.

Air hissed through Kurama's teeth. "Hiei, you _idiot_."

Hiei snorted. "Like you didn't do the same." And Hiei had never cursed Kurama out for using that damned mirror, now had he. "I gambled, I lost, I survived. Drop it."

Kurama snorted, papers rustling out of his bookbag. "We'll see."

A few hours passed with only the light scratch of quill on paper filling the room. Hiei suspected he'd dozed off a few times: the shadows leapt jerkily across the room instead of shifting slowly between blinks. But eventually, as the last dregs of daylight washed away under a quiet rain, Madam Pomfrey paused in the doorway with the remains of the afternoon tea tray.

"You may have visitors now," she informed Hiei with well-hidden amusement, eyes glinting to the side before she bustled away.

Given how quickly Hermione dashed into the room, Hiei strongly suspected that she'd been waiting right outside the door.

He groaned, eyeing the girl's bulging bookbag and pretending to not hear Kurama snickering behind one hand. Hermione didn't even notice, stopping short and opening her mouth.

Nothing came out.

That was enough to catch Hiei's attention.

Her mouth worked again a couple times, then she drew herself back and took a couple calming breaths. "You know," she remarked conversationally, "I've been composing what I would say for _days_, and it suddenly all seems very silly. I'm glad you're doing better."

Hiei rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you rushed in here to say _that_," he prompted. Immediately he mentally kicked himself; the girl did not need encouragement.

"Well... no," she admitted. Kurama was going to hurt himself not laughing aloud, the stupid fox. "I was also going to mention that you don't have to worry about me blowing up the school."

Kurama _sputtered_. "Good to know," he choked out.

She seemed to run that sentence through her head, then pinked. "By _accident_, I meant," she told Kurama, before turning back to Hiei. "By writing a bad ward or overpowering it, like you've been teaching me not to do? So I'm going to stick to theory until you're better," she finished firmly.

Hmmph. As long as she didn't go practicing under the hospital's foundations or near his sister, Hiei didn't care what she did. ... Unless it had to do with prolonged, nervous hesitations, like she was doing right now.

"And..." Her gaze dropped to the floor, knuckles whitening around her satchel strap. "I... wanted to know if that could actually happen."

Kurama's snickers died away.

She was scared of blowing herself up _now_? That didn't sound like her... so what was she on about? "What?" Hiei asked gruffly.

"Hiei." She visibly braced herself, taking a deep breath. "What. _Exactly_. Have you been teaching me?"

"Wards," Hiei answered warily. What the hell else would he have been wasting time on?

"Even as dangerous as they are to you?" she pressed.

Hiei went cold. Next to him, though Hermione probably didn't notice, he felt Kurama's power go very, very still.

Her sharp eyes met his. "I'm not stupid," she pointed out, spitting the last word out like it tasted bad. "I saw the writing on the underside of your headband. Sleep, peace, seal, heal. And as good as magic is, I _don't _think it can put a demon eye in a human being."

He'd known he was going to regret ever shoving her at the right books.

"So why... why you would teach some 'over-idealistic suicidal fool of a girl'," she echoed words he'd said to her several times in the training, "to... to hurt you... without sabotaging anything..."

Hiei looked away before she got too emotional to look at, catching Kurama's watchful gaze... the same look he got when he followed Hiei's lead in a fight, rare as that was. Hiei quickly let his eyes snap to the thin weave of the blanket. Much better place to be looking, all things considered. "Idiot," he muttered. "You could read the damn writing, couldn't you?"

Silence. Why the hell had he done that? There had to have been a better way to shut the girl up, better than pointing out proof that he'd taught her correctly... and not denying that she'd figured out what he was.

The watchful aura next to Hiei eased up ever-so-slightly, flowing smoothly into motion. "I believe you've answered your own question, Miss Granger," Kurama murmured. Hiei could still hear the note of _'I have no idea where this is going' _under the calm, though.

Hermione considered this for a long moment. "I suppose I have," she mused. Then she tried a tiny smile on for size, and more confidently, added, "After all, if you were what the books made you out to be, we'd all be dead by now."

Kurama smiled just as faintly. "Not so much as a bone left for the scavengers."

Her face paled a little. "That's..." She paused, reconsidered, then ran a shaky hand through her messy hair. "That's oddly reassuring, actually. Since we're not dead. And you don't go homicidally insane and couldn't possibly be... I mean if you were allied with You-Know-Who we'd have lost the war by now."

"Quite true," Kurama murmured. "We don't have to ask you to keep your mouth shut?"

Hermione turned on him with an incredulous look. "The way people would treat you?" she blurted. "Good Merlin, no!"

Kurama beamed. "Then I think we have nothing left to discuss, Miss Granger."

"Er... well..." she paused. "No. Although... can I ask you about Makai sometime? Do you have any books, maybe?"

Hiei groaned and pulled the covers back over his head.

"Miss Granger," Kurama sighed, "Do you have books on your hometown?"

"Of course!"

Hiei could almost hear Kurama blink. "... of course," the fox echoed. Then he rallied, and asked pointedly, "Did you bring them with you?"

"No... oh. Right." Hermione sounded sheepish. "I should ask Professor Genkai, then."

"Perhaps you should," Kurama replied flatly.

"Can I ask you about Makai anyway--"

"Miss Granger. Please."

"-- right. I'll do the research first." A shoe scraped, and Hermione's next words came from near the door. "I'll just be-- yes. Thank you. I really am glad Hiei's feeling better--" Then the door thunked shut, and she was mercifully gone.

Not so mercifully, Hiei could still sense Kurama's presence in the room.

"Inari, that girl..." he murmured. Hiei heard the fox run a hand through his hair, then fabric rustled, and Kurama padded back over to the bed. Fingers curled in the quilt Hiei had over his head, and he didn't bother trying to hold the blanket as Kurama pulled it away.

Green eyes were just a shade too wide to be blank, when Hiei looked full into Kurama's face.

"Hiei..." Kurama asked, "What on earth did we just do?"

_Suicide_, Hiei thought flippantly. But he answered, "How should I know? You're the Slytherin."

"Don't pull that House stuff now, please."

Hiei looked away. "She..." He hated having to put this stuff into words, sometimes. "Lying wouldn't have done any good. She _knew_." As surely as she knew the House Elves were enslaved and the goblins oppressed, and with about as much sense.

Kurama's brow furrowed. He let the blanket fall, his gaze turning inwards as he considered... well, probably the same things Hiei knew. "If we'd lied to her..." he said, under his breath.

Hiei waited.

It didn't take long.

"She thought we might've been enemies," Kurama mused. "And if we'd lied about it, she would've been sure." A long moment passed, thoughts ghosting through his eyes too quickly to read. "I think we'd better call a meeting."

-0-0-0

Kurama had lobbied for the meeting to be held in Hiei's room -- as had Genkai and everybody else -- but Madam Pomfrey took one look at the seven of them tromping towards the private room and booted them right back outside.

Literally. Apparently mediwitches got very creative under the stresses of their apprenticeships.

After they'd all climbed out of the giant, thankfully unused boot she'd hexed them into, Genkai ushered them into an empty classroom nearby and sent Yukina to Hiei's room with half of an Auditory Orb.

"... And so that's pretty much it," Genkai finished. "Hiei should be ready to train again after Christmas, Kurama will be fine with a couple days' rest, and with her magical breakthrough, Keiko can start training seriously next week."

"Congratulations, Keiko-chan!" Botan cheered.

Keiko shifted, smiling slightly even as she looked down. "It's not that big a deal... it took months and a lot of help..."

"_But it really is wonderful_," Yukina's voice came over the Orb. "_Most people break through when their own life's in danger."_

"And almost everybody needs help," Kurama added.

Keiko blushed, but her smile grew a little bit.

Kuwabara asked, "So I didn't see, what does your power do?"

"Oh, it... melds things and their properties. Um. Like Hiei's eye was breaking free, so I kept hooking it back up. And last year, I'm not entirely sure what I did with that tree, but it's sort of a one-tree Forbidden Forest now."

Yuusuke tilted his head, expression momentarily too innocent. "So you could make a cigarette that gets you drunk?"

Keiko whacked him, but Yuusuke just grinned and slung an arm around her. "It's a great idea. You'll be plotting that stuff by the end of day one, since Genkai's gonna beat you into the ground."

"She would not!"

"You'll be cursing her name with words you didn't even know you knew--"

"_Yuusuke_!"

Yuusuke laughed, letting her shove him over Kuwabara and onto a pile of cushions. "Hey, when you'd start wearing pink?"

"Pin--" Keiko yanked her skirt tighter around her knees. "_YUUS--_" She paused. "Wait, they aren't pink today."

"Gotcha."

Keiko pushed the side of his head with her shoe. "Brat."

"Hag."

Kurama almost regretted it when, in the ensuing scuffle, someone knocked on the door.

Genkai pulled Kuwabara out of Yuusuke's headlock and called out, "Come in!"

Nobody seemed particularly surprised when Dumbledore entered and let the door shut behind him.

"Ah. Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing important," Genkai assured him.

"Perhaps I could impose a matter of some importance, then?"

"Feel free."

"Excellent." Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a red and green plaid wing chair sprouted out of the rug in front of the fireplace. "Oh... I meant Aberdeen District." The chair politely switched to lavender, white, and red. "Thank you." He sat down and gave them all a grandfatherly smile. "About the young Mr. Malfoy..."

Yuusuke groaned. "What'd he do this time?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "It's nothing he's done, Mr. Urameshi. Rather, it's something he needs done. You see, the signup sheet is coming out next Saturday."

"Signup...?" Kuwabara echoed.

"The paper to stay for the winter break," Genkai supplied, pinning Dumbledore with a flat stare.

_The paper to... oh_, Kurama realized.

Dumbledore nodded. "You realize Mr. Malfoy will be facing a very difficult situation if he returns home -- the very situation you wished to prevent this summer, in fact -- but if he mysteriously disappears _again_..."

Hogwarts would be buried alive in Aurors. Not to mention the media presence and the Malfoys: there'd be extensive questions about Draco's summer activities, this time assuming he was an accomplice instead of a victim, and he wouldn't last a single week into his second reappearance if they brought him back at all.

Even if Draco remained missing, it wouldn't take much at all to dig up the inconsistencies in Hiei, Yukina, and Botan's files.

"We're handling it," Genkai assured Dumbledore. Kurama offered an agreeing, baldfaced lie of a smile when Dumbledore's eyes flicked across the group.

Dumbledore beamed, eyes twinkling. "Excellent." He stood from the chair, charmed it back into a rug, and left without a backwards glance.

They all exchanged worried looks. Then, Yuusuke summed up what they all seemed to be thinking.

"Crap."

-0-0-0

TBC

A/N's -

- finally! I've been trying to make them explain Keiko's power for something like six chapters now.

Random bit that didn't make it into the chapter:

Ron: *grin* Bill said I was a hero, and that he and Mum and Dad are proud of me.  
Hermione: Ron, that's wonderful!

Ron: *loses the smile* 'Course, then he started in on this time I tried to fly off the roof with Charlie's Quidditch robe tied around my neck...

And that is the story of how Arthur stopped collecting Muggle comics.


	23. Plotting

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

ANNOUNCEMENT:

Artists, colorists, inkers, and voice actors are still needed for The Best Defense Movie. ESPECIALLY artists. We love the project dearly, but can't do it all ourselves. Please refer to anomura_the_padawan for details.

A/N's -

- I made a small mistake last chapter. However, I've found a way to integrate it into the story later, so no changes will be made.

* * *

-0-0-0

Ch. 23 - Plotting

The Portrait of Trista didn't look the least bit put out by the lump of heavy crystal that kept slipping off her face. She did, however, look like she was tittering behind her lace fan as the crystal twisted out of Draco's fingers and shattered on the floor. Again.

Draco cursed under his breath and tried very hard to pretend that the corners of his eyes weren't burning. This had to work. If it didn't... if he couldn't find a way to block the damned bracelet, there was no way in hell that he'd be able to find a hole deep enough to hide from Kurama and his friends when Voldemort finally managed to get his hands on Draco. Because there was no possible way that Draco could keep the demons secret from the Dark Lord. It was the only bargaining chip he had to survive Voldemort with, and the demons would kill him if he used it.

He bit back a hiss of pain as a thin sheet of crystal, smoky-black, slid sharp little pincers under the bracelet's encircling strap. They'd break under the weight of a large crystal on the portrait's face, but maybe he only needed enough to block her view...?

"Hey," he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

The bracelet bounced up and down on his wrist.

Arrgh! Merlin's shriveled _balls_...

Draco shattered the crystal himself this time, tiny shards prickling in his palm. _Temper, Draco_, his father's voice echoed in memory. _You don't want to embarrass us..._

Except that he already had, failing the mission to summon Voldemort's demon into Hogwarts, disappearing the entire summer so he couldn't be taken to task, getting conveniently trapped under Dumbledore's eye with this stupid bracelet...

At least he probably had until the winter break to figure out how to get around Trista's watchful eye.

-0-0-0

Harry found it completely unsurprising to step into his weapons class on Friday and find Hiei absent. To find Kuwabara at the head of the room, stance akimbo and thumb flicking his sword off and on to quarter-length like a particularly strange cigarette lighter as he attempted to look serious, was only marginally more surprising.

When Kuwabara told them they'd be sparring with live steel, so to speak, Harry nearly dropped his wand. Whispers broke out across the room, only a few sounding more eager than nervous.

Harry made a mental note to stay on the far side of the room from those whisperers.

"All right!" Kuwabara made a beckoning gesture. "Everybody but the front row, go sit against a wall. Front row, each of you find a white mark and stand on it. I don't want to see live magic til I say go!" he warned, as the class shuffled to their new places. Harry plopped down near the front of a side wall, pressing between a couple of Hufflepuffs with the same idea in mind: getting a decent view.

The four students left standing ended up at the center of each mat, easily ten feet of space surrounding each of them.

Kuwabara walked down the center of the mats between them, gaze flickering back and forth consideringly. "Smith, McLaggen, switch." A seventh-year Slytherin and the Gryffindor across from her traded places; Harry remembered the Slytherin used a bamboo mockup of a warhammer easily half her size. Since the Ravenclaw she'd originally been standing next to used a six-foot staff... ah. They were both short-range fighters. Kuwabara had put the other two fighters, who had long-range styles, at a diagonal so they'd have less chance to tangle each other up.

He'd also put the long-range fighters nearest the areas with the fewest spectators, Harry realized as Kuwabara prowled the perimeter of the circle, shooing a few students into safer spots.

Kuwabara finished his check and planted himself back at the front of the class. "Okay!" he said. "One full round of kata, get used to live magic in your hands. Weapons out." Orange light flickered into life with a low hum. "Begin."

Harry watched the four flow into motion. McLaggen promptly wobbled on his first turn, off-balance: "Watch the weight, guys: magic weighs less than bamboo," Kuwabara said. By the third stance, Harry could see that the Ravenclaw (what _was _her name? He couldn't remember...) was lagging behind. Being overly careful, he realized; she was moving slowly, the staff gliding through the air around her while dark eyes flickered back and forth over its position.

He wasn't the only one who'd noticed. "Come on," McLaggen snapped at the girl, spinning into fifth position. "You'll never get anywhere posing with your stupid stick like that. Swing it like you really mean it!" The spiked ball on the end of his chain whistled in a too-wide arc between them, making the girl flinch.

"McLaggen!" Kuwabara shouted. "Shut up and pay attention before you take someone's head off! And Smith, cool it." Harry glanced over to see the Slytherin girl's hammer crackling with lightning, her eyes pinned on McLaggen. "You aren't going up against anyone today if you keep that up."

The Ravenclaw cast a tiny, apologetic look at Smith, then turned away into her next stance. If her steps away from McLaggen were a little longer than they should be... well, Harry wouldn't _really _know. But he did notice that, when they finished the katas, she didn't end up back on her mark like the other three did.

"Second row, you're up!" Kuwabara said, jerking his thumb. "Potter, there should be a knife in the weapons rack for you."

Harry found that the knife... his real knife, though he'd pretended to get it from the rack... didn't throw him off-balance nearly as much as his classmates' weapons had, but the weight was notably different. The sensation of having live steel in his hand, though... knowing that up against a real person, he could _kill_...

He probably wasn't going to be eating dinner tonight.

_I've never had this problem_ in _a fight_, he thought, trying to pretend his stomach wasn't twisting in on itself. _Then again, I've never had the chance to notice... too busy trying to survive. Usually without a weapon anyway._ His wand didn't count: how many times had his opponent kept him from using it? Quirrell, Lockhart, that mess in the Shack, half the blasted Tournament...

... Youko.

Harry almost stumbled.

He'd had the knife for Youko. He'd used the knife _against _Youko, and it was pure bloody luck that he'd only cut the demon's sash instead of his gut...

Kuwabara's dismissal seemed to come from somewhere very far away. The weapons rack clattered under Harry's hand as he hid the knife back up his sleeve; the wall jarred his tailbone, propped cold up against Harry's back.

He'd almost killed someone on _purpose_.

Eventually, Harry realized that the ringing in his ears was dead silence. He blinked. Then his head shot up, only for him to find the weapons room was empty; he'd missed the rest of class.

"Merlin," Harry breathed.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Harry yelped, nearly toppling over. He shoved himself around, spotting Kuwabara leaning against the wall next to the door, a few feet away. "What..?"

"I'm psychic," Kuwabara informed him, deadpan. "But not that much. What's eating you?"

The response came automatically. "Nothing."

"Hm. Pretty big nothing." Kuwabara shrugged, not looking away. "Someone could've taken off your head and you wouldn't have noticed."

_Would too_. Harry managed to stifle that response, instead finding a very fascinating seam between two of the floor's flagstones. Odd how the stones curved down at the edges, no mortar or anything. Happened in the walls too. Bet Hermione knew why that was. She'd tell him, too, if he ever hinted that it was interesting. She was a good friend like that.

"I almost killed your friend." Who'd said that? It couldn't have been Harry. Nope. Not speaking here.

"You _what_?" Kuwabara squawked, almost as if Harry had really said that. "Don't talk like an idiot, Potter. He risked his own damn life knowing damn well what he was doing, just like he always... does..."

That had sounded... Harry looked up. Kuwabara was just standing there, mouth agape and a dawning, horrible realization on his face. Like he'd just realized Harry was telling the truth.

"Um," Harry said intelligently. "I really don't want to be beaten up...?"

"Damn you, Hiei," Kuwabara hissed.

_Hiei?_ Harry thought. But he'd been talking about Kurama... ohhhhshit. Hiei was the one in the hospital right now, partly because of Harry. Of course Kuwabara wouldn't think he'd meant Kurama...!

Before Harry could open his mouth to explain, Kuwabara spun on his heel and walked out.

-0-0-0

The door to Hiei's hospital room swung open with a bang.

"YOU!"

Hiei barely let his gaze flicker up from his book: Kuwabara stood posed in the doorway, one shaking finger pointed straight at Hiei and fury painted across his face in varying shades of red. "Hn," Hiei grunted dismissively, turning back to his book.

Somehow, it didn't come as a surprise at all when Hiei found himself scooped halfway off the bed by the front of his pajama top. Kuwabara's face looked even blotchier from up close than it had at a comfortable distance.

"You. Knew. About. The. Curse," Kuwabara hissed, giving Hiei a tiny shake between each bitten-off word.

Damn fox. Kuwabara couldn't have figured that out on his own. What had Kurama told him to trigger his sporadic intuition?

"You-- there are no words for-- _do you have any idea what that did to Yukina-chan?_"

A tiny smirk twisted at the corner of Hiei's mouth, covering up the icy twist in his stomach. "Are you going to tell her?"

Kuwabara's fist cocked, jerking to a trembling halt before it went more than a couple centimeters. "You--" he hissed, seething. "You-- _Don't be so stupid again_," Kuwabara all but screeched.

Hiei landed with a bounce among the twisting sheets. By the time he untangled himself, Kuwabara was gone, only the echoes of his parting shot ringing in Hiei's ears.

_"You're the most godawful brother!"_

Silence.

After a long moment with nothing more coming, Hiei slowly rolled back over. Pulling his book out of the mess of bedclothes, he smoothed out the rumpled pages with curt, jerky little movements.

Stupid Kuwabara. What did he know anyway? Just because he had a sister... who was nothing like Yukina and had him completely cowed, the fucking idiot... he couldn't possibly understand.

And nevermind what Yuusuke had been muttering about 'Kuwabara losing a brother before he knew he had one'. Yuusuke's brain didn't work quite right sometimes anyway.

A low, muffled boom rattled Hiei's window. That would be the moron, letting off steam somewhere. Idiot.

Hiei rolled his eyes and turned a page in his book.

-0-0-0

Another week of research (Hermione) and increasingly wild guesses (Ron) later, Harry and his friends were no closer to figuring out who had tampered with Harry's vision of Voldemort. That someone _had_, at least, they'd managed to confirm with the help of a well-scrubbed cauldron and Hermione's discovery of the Pensieve spell.

"I still think there's something to it that Neville dropped that gillyweed book into your hand," Ron muttered.

Hermione pushed her thick hair out of her eyes. "And I still say that--"

"Neville," Ron and Harry chorused tiredly, "is the last person who'd mess with Harry's head."

"And stop doing that!"

Harry let his head fall back against the top brace of his chair. "It wasn't Neville. We know. It also wasn't either of you or anybody we can think of in Gryffindor. We don't know enough about people in the other Houses to guess."

Ron made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. "I vote we let our brains work on it in peace," Hermione stifled a disbelieving snort of laughter, "and go to the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw match."

"Why am I not surprised?" Hermione asked the ceiling.

Harry raised a hand, feeling more awake than he had since Hermione had dragged them into the library. "I'm in."

"Two out of three votes for Quidditch." Ron grinned. "What do you say, Hermione? We'll go to the game, clear our heads out, confiscate the stuff the twins sold the firsties..." Hermione bit her lip as Ron let the bait dangle, settling back into his chair to huff, "No idea how they managed that. Could've sworn Filch got every copy of their catalogs."

Heh. Nobody needed catalogs when the store set up in the castle for a day...

_Twin knuckles tapped against the scar. "Luck, Harry," they chorused. George added, "Seems like you might need it."_

"Merlin," Harry muttered, finding his own fingers brushing his forehead. He caught Ron's worried glance out of the corner of his eye. "It's not Him," Harry said, flapping a hand reassuringly. "It's just... do you know what the twins' core magic is?"

"No..." Ron said warily. "They were pretty closed-mouthed about it. And not like it was going to be the best prank ever."

Hermione tilted her head to catch his eyes better. "Harry, why?"

Figured. Weeks of work, and... "They stopped by on Halloween, roped me into playing cashier for a few hours. But then..." Harry let his hand fall. "I dunno. They did something weird. Wished me luck, I guess, but they were all serious about it..." Serious on the twins was not really all that reassuring.

Ron still looked confused, but Hermione's face darkened. "Genkai would know," she mused aloud. "I can ask if whatever they did would have any sort of effect. She might not tell me, but I can ask..."

And if Genkai wouldn't answer, maybe they could ask the twins. They wouldn't do anything to hurt Harry. Embarrass, sure, but not actually hurt... so if they'd done something...

_I really hope it was the twins_, Harry thought, feeling a tiny knot of worry loosen in his stomach.

"Guys? Quidditch?"

"Oh, all _right_, Ron. We're going."

-0-0-0

The finger-width of parchment went up with a green flame. Hiei frowned; he'd been aiming for a hotter blue. Picking up the next strip of parchment, he tuned back in just as Genkai finished her contribution to the meeting.

"And the Weasley twins seem to have figured out a way to spread their luck magic." She sounded slightly unnerved, not that Hiei could be sure. Most of Genkai's moods sounded the same: gruffly wicked. "They stuck some to Potter on Halloween, though it's dissipated by now."

"Huh," Yuusuke said. "How bad they screw themselves up?"

Yuusuke would know better how to interpret her tone. So Hiei had guessed right.

"Not at all, idiot. Their magic won't let them damage themselves. Potter, on the other hand..." She let out a huff. "Lucky he didn't get his brains blown out or his magic scrambled. It seems to have even helped us."

Helped them...? Hiei glanced up warily to find Kurama's flat gaze resting heavily on him.

... What was the fox thinking now...?

"It does," Kurama murmured, so low that Hiei didn't think anyone else could hear, "seem rather convenient that Harry got between you and the Boggart faster than Kuwabara could." A tiny, cold smile. "So that you were in the Hospital Wing when Yukina realized." Which triggered the curse, which would've killed Hiei had he been anywhere else in the castle...

_Fuck_.

At least he'd already paid the twins by proxy. Harry, however...

Genkai clapped her hands. "Next item on the agenda. Malfoy. We've only got four weeks to set something up; who's got ideas?"

A long moment passed, Keiko and Botan glancing nervously at each other. Yuusuke exhaled noisily, jaw jutted out so that the breath ruffled his loose bangs. "I got nothin'," he muttered.

"Me either," Kuwabara said. "Keiko keeps shooting down our ideas."

All eyes turned to Keiko, who went bright red. "Well," she got out, "it's just that... we can't do anything to raise suspicions, right? So we can't kidnap him again or anything like that. And we can't make him sick, right Yukina-chan?"

Yukina nodded. "I checked the nurse's reference books," she said quietly. "Everything that would keep him ill the entire three weeks despite magic is either dangerously contagious, or... or fatal. They'd take him to St. Mungo's and we can't protect him there."

"Faking sick wouldn't work," Yuusuke added. "His parents would send doctors to check."

Kurama's eyes finally let Hiei go. "I've been considering magical accidents," he murmured. "But again, I've found nothing that wouldn't be quickly reversed as well as raise suspicion. Although," his mouth quirked upward, "the mental image of a nice, quiet Dracotree is quite appealing. I could plant him in the Forest with the rest of the trees."

"So basically," Yuusuke said, "we can't think of anything to keep him here."

A sigh circled the room, dying with Kurama at Hiei's bedside.

Silence. Another strip of parchment flared into ashes between Hiei's fingertips. Blue-white. Better.

"What," Keiko's voice fell softly into the quiet, words coming slowly, as if she was only just circling an idea, "if he was stuck with the 'rest of the trees'...?" Hiei's gaze flicked back up, all eyes on the girl as she stared blindly out the window. "If something was keeping _everybody _here..." Slim fingers tapped at the bottom of the glass, slid upwards, then slowly traced a smile shape across the pane as Keiko started to grin.

"Yukina." Keiko turned bright, intent eyes on his sister. "How much power would you need for a blizzard?"

-0-0-0

TBC


	24. The Winds of Change

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's -

- scree: loose stones or rocky debris lying on a slope or at the base of a hill or cliff

- rime: to frost over, like freezer burn

- it's term paper week! auuuuuugh. expect long time til next chapter.

-0-0-0

Ch. 24 - The Winds of Change

A gust of icy wind whistled over The Three Broomsticks, blowing snow from the rooftops into Kurama's eyes and threatening to tug his hood off. Kurama automatically caught at the thick fabric with a bare hand, ignoring the stinging flakes in favor of keeping his too-bright hair camoflaged.

There were days he really missed his silvery youko body. Wedged up against the chimneys of Hogsmeade, up to his ankles in snow, and needing a heavy white cloak to seem invisible against the cloudy sky... this was one of those days. _Although_, he admitted to himself, _the cloak's a lot warmer than my old tunic._

The brickwork under his fingertips rumbled and warmed, and the chimney smoke turned green for a moment. Grit dusted across Kurama's hand. Another Floo traveler come and gone... and yet another chimney being held together more by magic than mortar.

Kurama tucked a tiny curl of ivy between the shingles and the brickwork, coaxing it to grow around the lowest two rows of bricks, where no one would be able to see it from the ground. Just a little reservoir of power should keep it healthy and fresh for a couple of weeks, and then it would go dormant and turn brittle in the winter weather. Liable to break under a good storm or three. All it had to do was root deeply in the mortar first... yes. There.

The wind picked up and yanked at his hood again, but the chimney, under two rows of ivy and crumbled mortar, held. For now.

He stood and ran lightly along the icy peak to the next roof, and the next Floo that might need a little help breaking in the coming storm.

-0-0-0

It felt like the winds from the Quidditch pitch blew Harry all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, half-slung over Ron's shoulder and bumping off their laughing teammates. His Firebolt kept tangling with someone else's -- he wasn't sure whose, couldn't see a thing past his fogged-up glasses -- but he gave them a friendly shove as he heard the Fat Lady ask for a password. No way could they all tumble through the portrait hole in one big group, after all.

"The way you dived after that Bludger!" Ginny laughed once they were inside, pushing against Yuusuke. The move only sent her tumbling onto a couch, as if she'd tried to knock over one of Hogwarts' walls. Demelza Robins followed in a billow of robes and bouncing pillows, propping her broom up against one side. "I should tell your girlfriend, let her flip out."

"Aw, not that!" Yuusuke mimed ducking a harried swat, turned mock-pleading eyes on Ginny. "Anything but that!"

"_Anything_?" Ginny cooed. Yuusuke dropped his gloves on her head. "_Ow!_" She flailed, batting them away. "Oh ew, gross! When was the last time you washed these?"

"Like you're such a bed of roses yourself," Yuusuke retorted. "And hey, waitaminute, what girlfriend? I ain't got a girlfriend!"

Harry joined the rest of the team in making disbelieving catcalls.

"I _don't_!" he repeated. Jimmy elbowed Yuusuke in the side, and Andrew bounced a wad of paper off his head. "_Guys_!"

Harry grinned, pulling himself free in a couple of stumbling steps. His glasses had cleared again; he wasn't going to be tripping over anything. Or, as he dodged Demelza's broom, attacked by falling equipment.

A familiar shape in the corner of his eye, and a hand plucked at his sleeve. "Harry," Hermione said. "The signup sheet's posted."

Signup sheet...? Harry caught the gleam in Hermione's eye as he glanced over at the announcement board. There was a mostly-blank paper in a familiar spot, down near the bottom corner: the signup to stay at Hogwarts over hols.

As if his day couldn't get any better.

"So," and it was all he could do not to laugh; a straight face was downright impossible, "what do you think I should get Snuffles for Christmas?" When he got to go _home_.

Hermione grinned in kind, opening her mouth to respond, but whatever she would've said vanished in an icy shriek of wind. It blasted from the fireplace, yanking at Harry's Quidditch robes and hair; he flinched, arm jerking up protectively, even as the shriek ended in a heavy thud and a sickening crack.

Silence.

Harry blinked in the dimness, peeking up over his arm to where the fire should've been... except a black and yellow lump lay sprawled over the grate. It took a moment to identify the shape, spot a soot-streaked face staring bewilderedly up into the chimney.

Yuusuke made a sharp sound. "Yukina-chan!"

"Ow." Yukina's soft voice sounded more startled than pained, though she had to have landed badly on the metal stand that held the logs. One slim, blackened hand twitched, pale blue light pooling around it even as it slid to her side.

Harry darted forward in Yuusuke's wake, as Yuusuke pushed past several people.

"Back off," Yuusuke told them. "Give her a minute... don't grab her, geez, she might've broken something--"

Yukina shifted, back arching a bit, and the blue light faded. Flat eyes refocused on Yuusuke. "I'm fine," she murmured.

"Like hell you are," Yuusuke snapped. "Your brother's going to have my head... what happened?"

Yukina twisted, hands reaching for the brick walls, and Yuusuke reached in to scoop her out of the fireplace, despite what he'd just said about not moving her. Under all the soot, she had a strangely empty look on her face as Yuusuke settled her on her feet. "Thank you," she murmured. "I thought you could only use the Floo to make calls... I wanted to talk to Genkai..."

If her face wasn't set in that blank mask, Harry would've thought she sounded completely dazed.

Behind him, Hermione made a soft, understanding sound. "The professor must not have her fire lit," she said. "The network shunted you to the nearest 'G'... and I bet you fell in." _Ouch_, Harry thought. Surprise Floo travel, facefirst. "Nasty shock, isn't it?"

"Yes. I think... I'm going to go see if Madam Pomfrey has bruise balm." Yukina gave them a tiny, careful bow. "Please excuse me." The crowd parted as she stepped forward gingerly, picking her way around the rugs and leaving dark footprints behind.

Yuusuke followed Yukina to the portrait hole, shifting uncomfortably. "Are you sure you don't...?" He rubbed the back of his head, looking anywhere but at her.

"I'll be fine," Yukina told him. "If you would, tell Kazuma I'm visiting my brother? He was saying something about a talk." A tiny, pained smile cracked past the mask. "I'll tell him about the floo after that."

And with that, she left, leaving a bewildered-looking Yuusuke behind.

-0-0-0

The Jagan no longer burned when Hiei opened it, though it did water against the searing leylines of Hogwarts' grounds and the hazy glow over the Forest that seemed to pull at his vision. The annoyance didn't matter; Hiei needed to be back in shape magically as fast as possible. At least he knew how to do it, moreso than Madam Pomfrey did... so what she didn't know wouldn't bring her wrath down upon him with jars of sedative potions.

Blinking a fresh well of tears away, he focused on the hills past Hogsmeade. Stark against the magical haze, a pale, robed figure darted through the treetops, up over a ridge and down, angling away from town and school alike. To no avail, Hiei already knew; Kurama wouldn't find Sirius Black in the little cave on his path. But if the fox wanted to check, it wasn't as if they had anything important for him to do anymore. Not with the sabotage in Hogsmeade complete.

Hiei's eye twitched sharply off to the side, catching a glimpse of black through the closed door just as someone tapped gently on the old wood.

"Come in," he said, pressing the Jagan closed. His forehead felt wet, clammy against his fingertips... but without the coppery scent of blood, that was fine.

Yukina poked her head into the room, no expression on her dirt-streaked face. "Hiei-niisan. May I borrow your shower?"

Hiei's head snapped up, and he nearly jolted in shock when he realized just how filthy his sister was. Her hair and face were nearly black with greasy dirt. "What--?" Hadn't she been helping with the sabotage?

She pursed her lips ruefully, slipping into the room with slow, too-careful movements like an old woman. "I fell down a chimney," she said simply. Hiei went cold. "I've healed the worst of it," she added, "but I'd rather not use too much power right now."

Hiei tipped his head at the door standing off to one side. "All yours." Down a chimney? Healed the _worst _of it? At least 'too much power' was understandable; they all needed to hoard what they could to make the most of the winter storm.

He picked up his headcloths and rewrapped the Jagan as Yukina stepped into the bathroom.

Fell down a chimney. He was going to have _words _with Botan... Who the hell had thought Yukina should clamber all over the roof without a spotter? She didn't have near the skill he and Kurama had needed. What if she'd fallen off the roof? Gryffindor Tower was fourteen stories tall...

The water started up in the next room.

If Yukina hadn't finished, Hiei was going to make sure Botan and Kurama did the rest. Maybe the idiot could make himself useful for once and distract Yukina until the job got done.

_You're the most godawful brother!_ shouted in his memory.

Hiei shook his head sharply. Idiot.

A knock on the door. That had better not be Kuwabara... "Come in," Hiei snapped.

"I see Pomfrey's let you up," Genkai observed as she entered the room, trailing cigarette smoke and Keiko in her wake. "How's the head?"

"Attached."

"Good." She blew a stream of smoke off to the side. Keiko made a face and waved it away, as Genkai continued, "We'll test the link as soon as Yukina shows up."

Hiei jerked his chin at the bathroom.

Genkai glanced that way, a brow raising as the sound of the water seemed to register. "Ah." She went back to her cigarette.

Keiko casually edged away from the smoke, eyes flicking towards the closed door. She had the strangest look on her face when she turned back to Hiei. "Are the Hufflepuff showers broken?" she asked.

"Soot."

"... what?"

Hiei fixed her with a flat look. "Soot," he repeated. He'd tell Botan about the roof. No need to broadcast that his sister couldn't keep her footing. "From the chimneys. Got all over her."

Keiko's expression cleared. "Oh. So she...?"

Hiei shrugged. It was none of Keiko's business.

The water stopped. About a minute later, Yukina stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her wet hair, with her clothing rumpled but spelled-clean. "Oh." She smiled sweetly, the expression honest enough that the bruise balm had to have taken care of whatever pain had been left. "Genkai-sensei, Keiko-chan. I'm sorry, did I lose track of time?"

Keiko shook her head. "We're just early," she explained.

"But we may as well start," Genkai added. She stubbed out her cigarette on the footboard of Hiei's hospital bed, and cast him a sidelong glance. "If Hiei feels up to it."

Hiei didn't dignify that with a response.

Genkai smirked, and gestured at the windowsill next to Hiei. "Come here, then," she told Yukina.

Yukina's gaze flicked down. Carefully squeezing a last few drops of water from her hair, she folded the towel over the footboard and obeyed. She slid up onto the wide sill next to Hiei, one hand bumping his arm, and settled with no more than a quick glance towards him. The sill was low enough that her toes just brushed the floor, her head a little higher than Hiei's; the Jagan was about level with her chin.

At Genkai's next nod, Keiko stepped forward, index finger raising to her chin in consideration. "I think..." She circled to one side slowly. "Hiei-san, look up?" Hiei did so, peering up into Yukina's unpained face. "Good. Shift to get comfortable," neither of them moved, "and if you'll hold hands, I should..."

One of Keiko's hands covered their own; her other hand reached into the air between them, pinched and tugged--

_And Hiei fell hard against hot sands, rolling several times before slamming into a rock. He choked on the air, curling around himself as he tried to suck the wind back into him, blinking stars out of his eyes._

_It felt like someone had welded iron bands around his chest, but, after a few moments that felt like a lifetime, they eased, and he caught a lungful of burning air. The stars before his eyes faded, but the blackness behind them didn't. Slowly, slowly, the faint scent of smoke and sand penetrated, and the dark began to take on form._

_He lay in a small hollow, ringed by rough, upthrust rocks that might've been red had it been daylight out. As it was, he could pick out stark, craggy shadows angling sharply across the stone, a shallower pool of darkness in the otherwise flat, pale sand where he'd hit. Carefully, he rolled to his back--_

_The sky above him, a deep blue-black that he'd only seen under a full moon in the human world, held no stars. As clear as the sky was, there should've been stars._

_Frowning, Hiei pushed himself to his feet, brushing sand off his bare arms as he stepped around the lone, upthrust rock that had failed to break his back. Then he stopped in his tracks to stare._

_The small hollow he'd landed in was just a tiny arc at the edge of a vast plain. Kilometers of stark, flat sand stretched away, so pale it nearly glowed, until it reached the low black jags of more mountains on the horizon. Even those, he could only see because the sky itself was that deep blue-black: in the human world, mountains that far would only be visible because they blocked the sky's vast expanse of stars, which this place didn't have._

_It did, however, have moons. The largest, deep red, hung high in the sky to his right. The next-largest, nearly blinding white, was just clearing the horizon to his left. And near it, out of line with the large pair, was a tiny disk that was faintly yellow-green compared to the large white moon._

Where am I...?

More importantly, how am I going to get _back_?

_Nothing on the plain that he could see meant his best bet would be to go up. He'd arrived here by falling anyway. So, Hiei turned, judged the steeply-angled rock for the best footing, and darted upwards._

_The stone was rough, broken into angled, jutting ridges that slowly climbed ever-higher, and ridiculously easy for Hiei to run on, though he didn't go straight up. Zigzagging along the barren slope, he kept an eye out for anything of interest; anything unusual in the landscape could provide a clue or mark an escape._

_It didn't take long, just two ridges up, before Hiei found a gap in one of the upthrust rock layers, a narrow, sand-floored hollow around a weathered arch. One end of the arch was the clifflike wall of the mountain's upward slope; the other end was a pillar planted firmly off-center in the space. It wouldn't have been unusual in any desert, had it been exposed to the wind. As it was, sheltered and alone, it didn't quite seem natural... which made this lone rock arch worth checking. _

_Hiei skidded down a shallow scree, sending up a billow of grit, and landed in a crouch to one side of the arch. The large white moon shone just over its peak, making any magical marks it might have invisible. So Hiei stepped around to get a better view, and the moon slipped into the gap._

_Blinding white cold blasted into his face._

_Hiei choked on the taste of snow, squinting through his fingers into the searingly bright portal. Misty spray blew against his arm, fine-blown snow melting before it ever hit; white-on-white shapes gleamed, dimmed as Hiei's eyes adjusted, though the desert sky on his side didn't seem to darken in comparison._

_On the far side of the arch, thick glaciers thrust their peaks into low, scudding clouds heavy with snow. A snow-floored basin stretched away, bleak gaps in the icy walls to the right hinting at a steep drop behind the overhang._

_... a steep drop to the right._

_Hiei's eyes flickered to his own right, where rocky walls showed open air over a steep drop to the sandy plain below. Then to the left, where the craggy rocks rose to bite at the empty sky. On his side, there were flat sands below his feet, behind him an angled rock layer streaked with paler sandstone; on the other, the snow was flat where it wasn't melting away near the arch, the small hollow backed by an angled ice layer streaked with dark dirt..._

_The other side was a mirror image of his own, in every way. Cloudy day vs. clear night skies, snow vs. sand, cold vs. hot... it was all opposite, but the shape of the land, as far as he could see, matched perfectly._

_A faint suspicion began to burn deep in the back of his mind._

_Carefully, warily, Hiei lifted his hand to brush at the air between the worlds. Something about it felt thick, cold air blanketing the gap despite the swirling breeze in Hiei's face, tugging at his hair and blowing a cool mist against his forehead._

_But not against the Jagan._

_Hiei blinked. No third lid brushed against heavy cotton, or watered against the light. He blinked again, the suspicion solidifying into a tight knot near the base of his skull. He couldn't be anywhere real. And if he was somewhere that wasn't real, which was connected to a perfect negative image of itself that couldn't be any more real than here, after Keiko had been messing around trying to connect his magic to his twin's..._

_'Here' was probably some representation of his own magic, which meant 'there' would be..._

_Hiei leaned forward, face-first into the cold. "YUKINA!"_

_His voice echoed off the icy peaks, vanishing into the wind. No answer. He cursed under his breath... there was no guarantee she was close enough to hear him, or that she was even conscious if she'd landed as hard as he had... but shouted again._

_"YUKINA!"_

_He waited._

_Nothing._

_There was no use to it, then. Without the Jagan... and Hiei flicked a dour look towards the red moon, getting the distinct impression of a hateful, mindless amusement... he couldn't look for his sister by sight. He'd have to search in the other world, on Yukina's side._

_The chances that they'd remain connected so he could get back... didn't matter. He had to find Yukina and get her out of he--_

_"--ei?"_

_A strange note to the wind. A voice?_

_"--iei--?"_

_Hiei leaned fully into the icy hollow, a hand clutching at the rock/ice arch. "YUKINA!"_

_The snow whirled up the gusting wind, obscuring the far end of the little hollow for a moment. Hiei squinted through the swirling flakes, trying to see-- there! A shadow moved, tumbling over the broken lip of the glacier in a cascade of ice._

_Yukina scrambled up, catching at the hair blowing into her eyes. "Hiei?" Bare feet splashed through the slush melting around her side of the archway as she ran lightly up to him, her kimono kilted up like a farmer's or child's. "What happened? Where _are _we?"_

_"Mindscape," Hiei told her, glowering at the thick, threatening clouds._

_"_Mindscape_?" she echoed. "You mean, this is...?" She glanced around in open surprise before turning back to him, peering into the dark over his shoulder. "And you are...?"_

_"Yes." Nevermind what he looked like. "It's never worked like this before," he added, reluctantly. She did deserve... could be trusted... to know that much. "I think breaking the curse did something to the Jagan. We can work around it," he went on hastily, to distract Yukina as thunder rolled in the clouds. "But first we need to wake up."_

_Yukina bit her lip, gaze going dubious. "Shouldn't we...?" She ducked her head, one bare toe digging into the slush. "I mean, we're here to see if we can transfer power at all." At Hiei's expression, the corner of her mouth quirked up. "If we can't, we won't have to risk coming in again... right?"_

_... she had a point. But, "I'm already doing damage," he pointed out._

_Yukina blinked and looked down. Lifting a foot, she primly shook off a gloppy piece of slush, which landed with a wet splut. "It doesn't hurt," she murmured, eyes going distant as mist puffed up from the ground and dissipated._

_When she set her foot back down, it didn't sink at all._

_She drew her other foot out of the ice with a little hitch up, standing atop firm ground. Then she smiled brightly. "I think I can manage. Please try?"_

_Hiei very carefully didn't tighten his grip on the archway at all. "If you're sure..." he warned. At her sharp nod, he drew, very carefully, on his fire. "Just a little bit."_

_Wind whistled at his back, though it had been deathly still on his side before. But Hiei held onto the power, pulling gently at pure fire-- no way was he going to try to touch the Jagan's reserves or the Kokuryuuha's, wherever that was._

_Grit began to cut across his bare arms._

_Sand? Not fire...?_

_Yukina's eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and Hiei snapped around to look._

_A churning white cloud, dull after the blinding purity of Yukina's glaciers, was rising slowly into the empty night sky. It wasn't fire, or even smoke, it was... Hiei's eyes narrowed. Desert. Sandstorm._

_He pulled a little harder on his fire, and lightning flashed in the storm as it whipped up across the sky. Too much, it would be too much, why the _hell _was fire magic manifesting as a sandstorm..?_

_Hiei's fists clenched on instinct as he clamped down on the pull._

_"Niisan, no!" A small hand dug into the back of his shirt. "Please, let it! We have to try--"_

_The rocky cliff ringing Hiei's hollow vanished behind a pale curtain of sand. Hiei's eyes stung and watered -- he smelled traces of blood under the sand, his arms burning where he'd flung them up to protect his face --_

_He spun, reached across the portal, and yanked, knocking Yukina off to the side. "Out of the way!" he yelled, as he ducked to the far side of the pillar. Whatever else the power did, it _felt _like a real sandstorm; it would scour them both apart if they stood in its path._

_He had to stop it-- but Yukina didn't want him to..._

_Power slammed into the arch with a thunderous roar. Faintly, Hiei heard a high-pitched yelp -- Yukina! -- then something twisted in his stomach, like someone had drawn a length of cool summer silk around his soul and flipped it._

_The world tilted out from under Hiei's feet, and he dropped to the sands like a stone. His skin crawled, clammy with cold sweat. He had to stop the transfer, to hell with what Yukina had said--_

_He curled in on himself and let the magic go._

_The wind snapped off like he'd flicked a light switch._

_Silence._

_But the world was still spinning, more slowly now but it hadn't stopped. Hiei shivered. Had to help Yukina..._

_"Niisan?"_

_Slowly, Hiei blinked his eyes open (when had he shut them?) That... Yukina didn't sound injured... then again, she'd developed that skill against that bastard gem dealer..._

_"Niisan! Please, answer me!"_

_Injured, no. Frantic, yes. Hiei rolled over and shoved himself up using the stone arch. "Yukina...?"_

_She seemed to almost coil around the pillar, far enough that she could only be holding onto her side of the worlds by her fingertips. "Hiei! Are you hurt? What--"_

_"Fine," Hiei interrupted. He didn't give her time to call him on the lie. "You?"_

_"It stung at first," she replied honestly, "but... I threw some magic over the opening and it turned into snow. There's an awful lot of it..." Her voice softened. "Did I... did I drain you?"_

_He had to snort at that. "Hardly."_

_"Then...?"_

_"No idea." Though if it hadn't hurt her, whatever the hell this was could be lived with. "Get back on your side and we'll try to close this." She hesitated, and Hiei added, "If I still feel like crap when we wake up, you've got extra power to burn healing me."_

_Yukina lit up, but still, "If you're sure..."_

_"Go."_

_She hesitated another split second, then her expression firmed. Bending, she got a hand under Hiei's arm and hauled upwards._

_It was more the surprise than her strength that found Hiei on his feet and stumbling the two or three steps back in front of the portal. He stayed standing from the weight of Yukina's eyes on him, as she stepped back through the filmy, blue glow of magic covering the archway like a curtain._

_"Hiei!" she called through, voice faintly muffled. "Do you think, if we blocked this...?"_

_That should work, and better than breaking the stone or ice. Hiei didn't want to think about what would happen if they went breaking parts of their minds. Though he didn't have any way to block his side, barring a landslide... which went right back into the problem of breaking bits of his mind. Yukina, however..._

_"Try icing it over," he yelled back. He didn't hear any acknowledgement, but a moment later, frost began to rime over the edges of the stone arch and up from the ground. Tufts of ice like spiky snow thickened, melded, hardening into a scratched-white opacity as more spiked ice crystals built themselves up towards the center. Slowly, as the ice crackled and congealed, the rocks steadied under Hiei's feet. With a final glimpse of gentle red eyes, the center sealed over--_

And Hiei thumped backwards into his chair with a gasp.

They'd gotten out. They'd gotten out _easily_. He met Yukina's wide-eyed gaze, letting one side of his mouth turn upwards. She looked unharmed, and they were back in reality. Though his skin was crawling for some reason...

Keiko still had one hand clasped over theirs. "How was it?" she asked, worry threaded through her voice.

Yukina opened her mouth, but Hiei beat her to it. "Tolerable," he replied.

Genkai stepped into view, eyes half-lidded and a challenging grin on her face. "Think you'll have it down by the 18th?"

Hiei raised an eyebrow at his sister, who gave him a tiny smile in return. He smirked, and answered, "Easily."

-0-0-0

Looking at the teacups in Dervish and Banges the next Saturday, Harry snickered. At his friends' quizzical looks, he glanced sheepishly down. "Last time I bought something for Remus," he explained, amusement tugging at his mouth, "I tripped over this transfer student who didn't recognize my name."

Ron made a rude sound somewhere halfway between a laugh and a snort. "Bet that didn't last long."

"_Ron_!" Hermione huffed. "Honestly!"

"What?"

Harry shook his head. "Lasted a whole day, actually. Don't think Kurama heard a peep til Draco--"

"Little twerp," Ron muttered.

"-- showed up to be an ass," Harry finished. "Come on, let's go see if anyplace else will give me some ideas." He led his friends out, pretending not to hear Hermione, in a hiss, explaining that there was '_no reason to rub Harry's fame in, it was more trouble than it was worth and don't you remember the First Task Ronald Weasley'_.

_But it's true_, Ron protested in the same, not-so-quiet whisper.

"You're both right," Harry piped up. They both fell silent behind him, and he rolled his eyes where they couldn't see. "So if we could get back to the important stuff?" He turned, walking backwards with his hands in his pockets. "We've got Christmas presents to--_oof_!"

Someone had rushed out of Scrivenshaft's just as Harry was passing by. Someone with, Harry noticed as he picked himself up out of the snow, bright blue hair.

"Botan?"

She sat up, snow dripping from her ponytail. "Sorry, in a rush, gotta see a prof about a map, and really never buy 'em here they're _awful_--" Scooping up a few scrolls that had fallen out of her satchel, she let Ron pull her out of her snowdrift. "Actually, don't even let me get started on them."

Hermione cast a quick drying charm on her. "I know," she said feelingly. "Though at least when they say _Here there be dragons_, it tends to be literal."

"So they thought," Botan muttered. "Have fun guys! And try that spicy cider stuff at Rosmerta's, she's giving out little cups for free." And with that, she hurried off.

Harry vaguely wondered why Botan even wanted bad maps...

"Free wassail?" Ron said.

"Sounds good to me," Hermione replied. "Coming, Harry?"

Bah. Who knew with Botan? Maybe she was thinking about a cross-country broom race or something. "Sure," he replied, letting the thought drop. "And lunch is on me."

-0-0-0

"And so yeah, we're pretty stumped on how to get Yukina awake for the storm." Kuwabara finished his tale of his experience with Keiko's link the day before. "Any ideas?"

Kurama mentally went over his seed collection, one eye (and ear) on the little group huddled over the Muggle maps across the room. "Not really. But it sounds like the Jagan's powers... or, at least, Hiei's connection with those powers... has deepened." At least that seemed to happen when Keiko inflicted her own magic on it. Not surprising, with how clumsily she'd shored up the attachment while the Jagan was trying to rip Hiei apart. "Have you guys considered trying to get Yukina up past those clouds of hers?"

Kuwabara frowned, thinking. "Hiking, or throwing?" His tone said the latter had better not be what Kurama meant.

Kurama hid a smile. "Perhaps making a staircase. Or flying. It's a mindscape, it shouldn't be too difficult to grow wings in there... I have a seed that does that for real, in fact, if she needs to see an example."

Another second while Kuwabara contemplated this, then his eyes glazed over, a besotted grin stretching over his face. "_Angel_," he nearly squealed.

Kurama chuckled. The mental image would keep Kuwabara occupied for a few minutes. He turned his attention to the conversation across the room.

"So," Keiko said, lifting one map up. "What do you think of a series of storms along this track?" Her fingers traced a line over the sea just north of Ireland, almost due east and into the Grampian mountains where Hogwarts was.

Yukina's head tilted down in a half-nod. "That looks like a natural path," she murmured. One finger tapped just under her mouth. "But the mountains..."

Hiei marked a quick, inverted "v" near the west coast. "You can run the first storm along this river valley. It'll land almost on top of the school before it heads for Dundee."

Keiko nodded. "And if you do a different track for each storm..." She traced an almost straight diagonal across the map, then another at a slightly shallower angle. "Like one up the Great Glen through Inverness, and another along the Spey..."

"Most of them should sink to the lowlands between Glasgow and Edinburgh," Yukina pointed out. "But..." and she trailed off, eyes going distant. "If I make ice storms instead of pure blizzards, the cold won't need to reach nearly so far up. I'd be able to spread the storm over a wider area."

Hiei's eyes glinted. "It'll do more damage."

A pause. "Yes," Yukina murmured slowly. "That too."

The glint vanished. "Yukina..." Hiei began, but before he could add anything more, Botan shoved the door open with a loud bang.

"You would not _believe _how awful wizarding maps are!" she proclaimed, dumping her satchelful of scrolls over the Muggle maps Genkai had brought from her quarters. They rolled every which way, a few of them rescued only by quick grabs from everyone around the table. "I swear, some of those can't have been updated since the sixteenth century! I think I saw one that still portrayed the world as _flat_!"

Keiko tilted her head. "Botan... aren't maps supposed to do that?"

"_Here there be dragons_." Botan said the phrase as if it were a curse. "No Americas, Asia the same size as Europe, Africa called Libya..."

"Did you get the maps we wanted?" Genkai interrupted.

Botan blinked. "Oh. Yes. Wizarding Britain: Ireland and southern Scotland." She picked up a scroll and gestured with it like a baton. "Waystations, Quidditch pitches, country homes, and other Muggle-warded areas."

"Good." Genkai gestured with the wand, and the new maps obediently unrolled themselves, went misty, and merged with the Muggle maps on the table. "Draw your storm tracks, and let's find out where our Portkeys need to go."

The group bent their heads over the table, and Kurama turned back to his conversation with Kuwabara.

-0-0-0

TBC

A/N's -

- I do seem to like beating up on Hiei, poor boy.

- no Yuusuke in that final scene. He was, uh, on patrol. Right.


	25. Blizzard Calling

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's - why does Hiei's magic look like sand in his mind? Because his mindscape is a desert. There's a lot of metaphorical imagery in a mindscape. More on mindscapes coming later.

-0-0-0

Ch. 25 - Blizzard Calling

Madam Pomfrey had not been happy at letting Hiei out of the Infirmary, but with the promise of his swift return, and several minutes where Dumbledore had spoken to her too quietly to hear, she'd given in. With conditions.

So Hiei had submitted to the indignity of letting Kuwabara tote him through the halls in Dumbledore's wake, the headmaster leading them in a winding route that managed to neatly avoid students and the more gossipy portraits alike. Genkai, Keiko, and Yukina followed silently, ending up in Dumbledore's office. At that point, Kuwabara plonked Hiei down on his own two feet and scooted several steps over to Yukina.

Dumbledore pretended not to notice, as he circled behind his desk and pushed several strange items aside. One remained on the blotter, and it took Hiei a minute to identify it as more than a pile of different metals.

The chain coiled on Dumbledore's desk was an eye-smarting riot of different links: smooth brass, rope-coil steel, braided copper, pockmarked iron. When he picked it up, it dangled from his hands and showed a wooden link on each end: one a loop of pale wood, the other a blackened square. "Your Portkey," he informed the little group, proffering it with an avuncular little smile.

Hiei eyed the heavy chain dubiously; no one else made a move to take it.

Unfazed, Dumbledore twisted the chain until he could reach the pale wooden loop on one end. "This one will take you to Rinns Point." The first point on their planned blizzard tracks, on the southernmost island of the Inner Hebrides: as far southwest as you could get without going to Ireland or England. He dropped the link and added, "Simply say 'Islay'. The remaining links are activated by saying 'Track' and the number; 'One' for the brass links, 'Two' for the steel, 'Three' for the copper, and 'Four' for the iron. Each track is arranged in order, going eastward from Rinns Point. Merely keep track of which link you're touching as you travel. As for returning," Dumbledore picked up the wooden square on the far end, "'Home' brings you back here."

That sounded easy enough, Hiei thought.

Genkai took the chain from Dumbledore's hand, coiling it around her arm, and held up the wooden ring on the end. "Well?" she asked. They all scrambled to catch a finger in the loop, then Genkai announced, "Islay," and, with a sensation very much like someone had caught a hook behind Hiei's navel and pulled, the Headmaster and his office vanished.

Hiei landed hard on a grassy slope, brown and dry with winter grass, salt winds keening low against his face. Off to one side, a boulder broke Kuwabara's tumbled landing; Keiko smacked up against him with a sharp "oof!" Straight ahead, the land dropped steeply down to a narrow stretch of rocky beach, foamy white breakers rolling in from a slate-gray sea that faded into the cloudy sky.

A slow turn showed only a dirt path running jaggedly down to the beach, a lone sign stuck off-kilter into the ground next to it. Hiei couldn't see any buildings or roads from here, much less people.

"Good enough," he muttered. Even if the idea of being in his subconscious and unaware of the world around him, while he was out in the open, made his stomach feel a little tight. Knowing that his sister was going to be right there and in the same state...

Yukina slid up next to him, gaze fixed out to sea as well. "It'll all turn out all right," she murmured. It wasn't quite a question, not enough so for Hiei to do more than grunt something like an agreement. A tiny smile tugged at her lips, eyes as red as Hiei's own flicking to meet his. "Let's begin then, ne?"

One last look out to sea, then Hiei turned to where Kuwabara and Keiko had managed to sort themselves out. Keiko had Kuwabara settled back against the rock he'd fallen against.

"Ah, Yukina-chan, if you would..." Pink tinted Keiko's cheeks as she gestured to a patch of grass next to the boy, but Yukina knelt there as if she belonged curled against Kuwabara's side. "Thank you. Er. Now you, Hiei..." A spot next to Yukina, very self-preserving of the human girl; Hiei would not have been happy if she'd tried to put him next to Kuwabara. As he sat down warily where she asked, Keiko rallied, and said, "I'm not sure how to do this without knocking you all unconscious," hence the sitting, of course, "but I think that Yukina-chan should be able to come to, if only a little bit. I'd like you to at least try, okay?"

Yukina nodded.

"Okay. Now relax, please... let the rock take your weight, and if you'd all look at each other... three, two-" Her fingers pinched in the air between Hiei's face and theirs, and

_Hiei's feet crunched in the sandy, cliffside basin overlooking the dry, darkened desert of his mind. The three moons in their empty sky had moved, the red one glaring balefully low in the sky, the white hovering even lower than that in the opposite direction, and the last, greenish one riding high and small overhead._

_ He wasn't entirely sure, but Hiei thought that he might've landed in a different place at the edge of the broad, flat sandy plain of his mind. The jagged hills in the distance had a slightly different line than he remembered. Turning, he found that the rocky outcropping at his back was nearly straight, a ledge some five meters high, rather than the sheltered little hollow from last time._

_ Automatically, he grabbed for his headband, fingers scraping against his smooth forehead. Right. No Jagan in here. That meant he'd have to find the connection without its help..._

_ Surely he wouldn't have landed too far from the connection point? After all, there was no reason for Keiko to have put the connection in the same part of the mindscape as before. Who knew how a mental landscape translated to the real world, anyway?_

_ The previous time, the link had been an arch of rock in the lower reaches of the mountains, between Hiei and the white moon. The white moon this time was off to his left, low enough that it was half-hidden by the mountains as it was. If he climbed up and found another arch..._

_ That decided, Hiei leapt for the craggy heights. It didn't take long, skidding on flaking stone, before he found a fold in the cliffs cupping another sandy ledge. The expected archway was already backlit by the moon, the light coming from it not quite the same shade of pale as the rest of the moonlight, and was steaming gently._

_ Hiei slid down the gravel slope to land at the entrance, and blinked._

_ The archway into Yukina's glacial mindscape looked very much the same, with the thick snowdrifts nearest the threshold half-melted, pockmarked from meltwater trickling into the dusty rock on Hiei's side. However, set into the ice sheltering the hollow, another opening looked out onto sunny skies and the vibrant rooftops of skyscrapers. One rather horrifying billboard there was emblazoned with Kuwabara's face, his fierce grin underscored with a caption proclaiming that even the greatest heroes study hard for their friends._

_ A moment later, the human himself leapt into view. Hiei nearly choked, tearing his eyes away as fast as he could. Whoever invented spandex needed to be blasted into little tiny atoms, preferably with Kokuryuuha. Ugh. He was _never _going to be able to forget this._

_ "Yukina-chaaaaan!"_

_ Had the snowpack been real, Hiei was fairly sure that Kuwabara's yell would've caused an avalanche._

_ "Yukina-chaaaaan!" the human yelled again, leaning in close to the cave entrance. The tip of his combed-up hair whitened with frost, and Hiei's gut clenched._

_ "Stay in your own mind, you idiot!" he snarled. Kuwabara jolted, automatically jerking back. Then his eyes flashed with recognition and narrowed, just as Hiei realized why he'd shouted in the first place._

_ Yukina's mind _might _not be as cold as the Glacier, but it very likely was. Just as Hiei's own was scorching from his fire affinities._

_ Kuwabara came back to himself with a sputter. "Who are you calling an idiot, you shrimpy pipsq-"_

_ "The guy who almost froze his breath in his lungs," Hiei interrupted dryly._

_ "Wha..." Kuwabara made the connection between personality and mindscape faster than Hiei expected. And, predictably, he blew up. "YUKINA-CHAN IS A WARM AND CARING PERSON-"_

_ "Whose soul is most comfortable in inhumanly icy wastes. Get over it."_

_ Kuwabara sucked in a furious breath, then..._

_ "Oniichan? Kazuma?"_

_ Kuwabara spun, arms outflung (though, Hiei noticed, the human kept them carefully on his side of the link). "Yukina-chan!"_

_ Yukina slid down the snowy bank at the edge of the hollow, bare feet crunching knee-deep into slush. "You look very heroic, Kazuma!" she said, beaming up at him. "I'm sorry I'm late," she added, including Hiei in her smile._

_ Hiei shrugged, looking away. "You're not late," he muttered, not entirely truthfully, then quickly changed the subject. "How do you want to do this?"_

_ "Well..." Yukina frowned, hands clasping uncertainly before herself. "The power transfer wasn't a problem last time, I don't think... But as for waking up...?"_

_ The previous time, Hiei and Yukina had woken by breaking the link. They could do that again, but the whole point was to keep the link intact so Hiei and Kuwabara's power could flow through for Yukina to use. That meant they'd have to do something else._

_ Kuwabara hummed deeply, a serious sound that caught Hiei's attention. Except that with the overdone pensive expression... the urge to say something cutting and mocking made Hiei's teeth clench. It would be too easy. It might make the idiot think that his remark the week before, about Hiei being a poor brother, had actually had some effect. It would definitely upset Yukina._

_ "So..." Kuwabara's eyes opened, and he peered past Yukina as if he could see through the blowing snow. "Which way is out?"_

_ Hiei's eyes automatically flicked up to his blue-black sky._

_ Out._

_ Damn. The idiot might have hit on a working idea for once._

_ "Up," Hiei said, earning two startled looks._

_ "Up?" Yukina echoed blankly. "But we can't fly."_

_ "You can't?" Kuwabara interrupted. "I did. Like Superman," he added._

_ Yukina wilted a bit. "I'm not sure I could be a superhero, Kazuma."_

_ "Sure you can!" Kuwabara then seemed to mentally stumble, which didn't surprise Hiei a bit. "Er..."_

_ "Try brooms." If they could get one, Hiei thought. But brooms weren't the only way to fly. "Wings. Tornados." Like Jin the Windmaster._

_ At that last, Yukina frowned slightly, gaze turning inward. She lifted a hand, pulling snowflakes from the glaciers above to drift in its wake, shaping themselves in vague streamers fanning from her fingertips. Slowly, she turned, the wind whistling to a higher, faster pitch. "I think..."_

_ Hiei left her to it - she'd either figure out how to get out and conscious with the link intact, or they'd feed in as much power as they could and do this in shorter bursts - and turned to call up his own power._

_ A twist of will, and movement started far in the desert basin: unlike Yukina's waking winds, from the glacial mountains at the edges of her mind, Hiei's were starting near the core of his power, a dust devil spreading outwards until the entire basin was a rushing whirl of hot sand._

_ Now to send it to Yukina, hopefully without getting himself sandblasted like last time. A curl of his fingers brought a tendril of sand snaking out of the storm, winding around his arm like the Kokuryuuha before it slipped further up to nuzzle at his palm. Hiei cupped his free hand over the coiled sand and pulled his palm back slowly, spreading his fingers wide, the coil thickening obediently until it had to fall free from his arm. Now in both hands, spreading wider and wider, the sand grew to an appreciable size and continued past that- now as thick as a large dog, now a horse, now the Kokuryuuha, half as wide as the archway into Yukina's mind. The blunted tip of the sand puckered, small pockmarks like a serpentine face smiling at Hiei, and Hiei let it butt up against his hands again as he turned to face Yukina's mind once more._

_ His sister had given up on using winds while he'd been busy with his magic. She now sat perched on a floating shard of ice, blue-white and thick as his forearm. A swarm of tiny orange-and-blue toys flew in circles around her, colorful capes flapping and plastic muscles bulging._

_ Hiei very carefully didn't wince at the sight of hundreds of Kuwabara action figures, much less them swarming his sister, but he wasn't particularly careful about where he aimed when he sent the sand swirling through the link. And if the toys just happened to all get swamped - if a slight shudder of warmth went up Hiei's spine when the sand hit - if the toys all got knocked into the snow and sky, well, that was Kuwabara's fault for taking up so much space right in front of the links._

_ Yukina caught a few of the action figures, pulling them close as the others scuttled free of the snow and sand, then slid one cool, gentle hand over the coil of Hiei's power. "Thank you, Hiei-niisan," she said, smiling. Then she looked up into her clouded sky, and the ice shard rose swiftly out of sight, drawing both sand and swarm behind it._

_ So that was that._

_ Now they just had to wait, feeding magic slowly through the links, until Yukina had finished powering her storm. And then..._

_ "Hey."_

_ Hiei flicked a carefully incurious glance towards Kuwabara, meeting the man's eyes (instead of the awful costume) in contempt._

_ Kuwabara looked away quickly, crossing his arms and going an uncomfortable shade of red. "About the other week."_

_ The other week... the only thing Hiei could think of that Kuwabara might be referring to, that would have Kuwabara looking like he was about to face Shizuru, was..._

_ "You aren't a bad brother," Kuwabara bit out._

_ ... that. Which was the last thing Hiei wanted to talk about. Ever. Even if the admission made a little cold knot somewhere in Hiei's chest loosen just the tiniest bit._

_ Kuwabara's eyes snapped back to Hiei's. "But you're still a stupid shrimp!" he added, fast and hard, like he thought Hiei might be feeling charitable towards him now._

_ Charitable. Hah._

_ Hiei turned sharply away from the link, and a moment later suppressed a wince. The move had put his back to Kuwabara... but the human wasn't going to understand what that meant, so it didn't matter. It only mattered that Kuwabara would drop the subject, so Hiei stared pointedly away into what could be seen of the sky above the swirling sands._

_ High above the barren desert, the smallest, greenish moon shifted. A thick, syrupy drop seeped from the bottom, oozing towards the ground until it vanished into the storm._

-0-0-0

Something started burning deep and low in Kurama's chest. Absently, he swallowed, letting his head rest heavier on his hand as he gazed out the tower window.

_Heartburn_, he thought to himself. He really had to be more careful what he ate at lunch.

Far over the western horizon, clouds began to gather.

-0-0-0

Late that night, in Gryffindor Tower, Harry sat curled in a chair he'd pulled up next to the window, watching ice pile up against the glass. On a normal day, or a moonlit night, he would have been able to see all the way to the railroad tracks and the forest beyond. As it was, he could only see the castle walls because of the blurred firelight in their windows.

Behind him, static flared on the Wizarding Wireless. Someone muttered a hex, and the radio cleared up, the _Wassailing Witches_ giving way to wizarding news.

... _Ministry has suspended all train service north of Hadrian's Wall. All wizards are advised not to owl or travel to, within, or past the borders region, except in the case of medical emergency. The Ministry warns that anyone Flooing to St. Mungo's from Scotland without a medical emergency will face charges..._

Another hex, and the radio returned to a low alto crooning _Silver Spells_.

"Hey! I was listening to that!" someone snapped.

"And we were listening to music!" came the sharp reply. "Get your own wireless!"

Harry tried to tune it out as the jinxes began to fly. Who cared what was playing on the stupid radio, anyway? The train was supposed to come tomorrow. Harry was supposed to spend Christmas with Sirius... with _family_, with people who loved him.

Somehow, he didn't think it was going to happen.

He shoved out of the chair and stormed upstairs, away from the noise. The dorm was, fortunately, empty; Harry wasn't sure what he would have done if it wasn't. Had a fight, probably.

Shoes kicked under the bed, outer robe tossed on his trunk - which had been almost completely packed for the past two days - wand under his pillow...

Pain lanced hot through Harry's scar, and the world went black.

-0-0-0

TBC

A/N's -

- Kuwabara is startled at the idea that up = out _because _he can fly in his mindscape. The sky isn't a limit for him.


	26. Visionary

Warnings, disclaimers, etc. etc.

A/N's -

- crampons: long spikes strapped to one's shoes for walking on ice

- back at Halloween, the Shin Go ceremony wasn't mentioned because Kurama decided not to risk Hiei refusing.

- Yukina needs magic from Hiei and Kuwabara so that she's strong enough to make the blizzard. She can manage something like 40 x 40 ft in a building for an unlimited amount of time (however many years she was captive). We don't know what her maximum output in one shot is, but it needs to cover hundreds of miles. So there's no question she needs more power than what she's got. It would have been fine with just Hiei, but Kuwabara insisted on helping.

-0-0-0-

Ch. 26 - Visionary

For once, Harry wasn't in the room with all the silver pictures.

"Where. Are. My. _Captives_?" he snarled, Voldemort's voice in his mouth, glaring at the lone, black-robed figure crouched prostrate on the tiled floor.

"My Lord," the man answered, voice high and tight with the effort to stay steady, "no one knows. Our agent there said their Ministry..."

He paused, just long enough for Voldemort's patience to snap with a near-perceptible twang in Harry's mind. "Their Ministry is what?"

"C-covering up four... 'incidents'. Murdered foreigners in their capital, my Lord. And," the man dared to glance up, blue eyes wide in his silver mask. "The disappearance of five citizens at the scenes."

Voldemort sat back, the gilded carvings of a thronelike chair flashing at the edges of Harry's vision. "You seem to be implying that my Death Eaters failed in their mission." No answer. Voldemort continued, with scathing precision, "You mean to tell me that twelve fully trained wizards - fully trained _Death Eaters_ - failed. Against. Five. _Muggles_." The man's head shot up, shaking weakly in denial, fanning the flames of rage in Voldemort. "And now you have _lost track of them. Crucio_!"

And then... black.

Harry jolted awake to a familiar, moonlit ceiling, all blurred shadowy arches and the scent of medicine. He blinked, and a dull ache bloomed from his scar and a heavy spot just over his left ear.

_Ow._

"You're awake." Neville's voice was soft, invalid-quiet, and for a moment Harry was grateful it wasn't Ron shouting joyfully to make his headache worse. Then guilt surged, thin and faint, but it wasn't strong enough to really distract from the pain in his head.

"Nev...?"

A warm hand clasped over his forearm, squeezing gently before retreating. "You're in the Infirmary," Neville explained. "I found you passed out next to your bed; Madam Pomfrey says you whacked yourself pretty hard when you fell. Hermione and Ron went to get the Headmaster about ten minutes ago when your scar started bleeding. It's stopped now, by the way. And Madam Pomfrey left you a potion to drink when you woke, would you like it now?"

"Yeah."

Ceramic clinked, then the rounded lip of a bottle pressed against Harry's mouth. The watery sludge inside was bitter, clinging to the back of his mouth and behind his teeth, but Harry swallowed gamely, feeling the ache in his head and the weight above his ear drain away. "Thanks."

The doors opened, Dumbledore and Harry's friends walking in before Neville could answer.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Longbottom," the Headmaster said, smiling.

Ron and Hermione darted out from behind the man. "Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "You're awake!"

Neville quickly pressed Harry's glasses into his hand, dodging out of the pair's way. "I'll see you later. Feel better," he murmured with a little smile, as Hermione caught Harry in a hug. Then, with a polite 'sir' to the Headmaster, Neville was gone, and Dumbledore took his chair.

"Harry," he said, voice cutting softly through Ron and Hermione's clamoring, making them go still. Hermione drew away, putting a conversational distance between them. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in approval. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," Harry answered. "Madam Pomfrey's potions are great."

Dumbledore nodded. "Though one does wish something could be done about the regrettable taste, I'm sure," he sighed. "If I may ask..." He let the question dangle, an unvoiced _what happened?_ hanging in the air.

What happened. Well. Harry ran back through the vision, then felt his mouth stretch into an unmistakeable smirk. "Some attack of His failed," he explained. "Very, very badly."

Dumbledore's eyes flew wide. Then, after a long, startled moment, his own smile widened into a bright, youthful grin.

-0-0-0-

The next morning, with rain still falling and freezing upon the school, half the Ravenclaws (and a handful of assorted Slytherins and Hufflepuffs) came to breakfast with coppery wizarding-wireless radios slung over their shoulders like purses. Every single one was set to news programs, at least three different stations trying to drown out the others. Oddly enough, not a single Gryffindor sported a wireless, though several of them still bore the signs of some very creative hexing.

Kurama sat at the Slytherin table, munching slowly through a bowl of rice and trying to ignore the cacophony of competing announcers.

_- splinched herself with a three-foot icicle after illegally Apparating north. She is listed in stable condition -_

_- cost of damages to the Floo Network estimated in the tens of thousands and rising -_

_- spokeswizard for the Knight Bus says the company will press charges of endangerment against Greta McGurble for summoning to her home outside Glasgow -_

_- Bristletoe Procession in Edin Burrow Market has been postponed until flight conditions improve. The event has been held annually since 1412 -_

There was a tiny part of Kurama that allowed himself to be smug, listening to all the oh-so-superior wizards scurry around in a panic just like Muggle humans (and not a few of the more civilized demon nations, and certainly Reikai) did when nature threw them a curveball. A second, even tinier, part kept him glancing at the two center tables, looking for any sign that Yukina and Keiko were listening to and (more importantly) upset by the news. But mostly, Kurama was unfazed by the dire reports.

Though he definitely didn't like having only the radio as a source of information. At least the Tantei (and, by extension, the school) weren't as trapped as the wizards were, not with Yukina and Hiei perfectly capable of leaving on a moment's notice.

A clap cut through both Kurama's thoughts and the radio noise alike, shutting every single wireless box off. Kurama glanced up to the professor's table, where Dumbledore was standing, face solemn and gentle.

"I'm sure you're all worried about getting home for the holidays," the Headmaster announced, without preamble. A hush fell over the hall. "As you have all undoubtedly heard, all non-essential travel has been banned for the duration of the storm. I am sorry to say," a ripple of disappointment went through the quiet, "that few Aurors would accept 'getting home for Christmas' as essential travel."

The light words fell flat. Dumbledore continued, "To those of you already wondering about Portkeys, there is no one on staff authorized to make one. I must ask that no one attempt to make one of their own, as an improperly-cast Portkey invariably renders a rather horrific death upon the maker."

A pause, while Dumbledore cast a severe look around the room, pausing at a few of the more determined upperclassmen. Then he beamed. "So if you would please attempt to entertain yourselves this morning, your professors and I will arrange some activities to be announced at lunch."

With a second clap and a shooing gesture, the students were dismissed. Kurama stood, slipping past his Housemates without a second glance for the way their calculating eyes watched warily out from behind perfectly normal expressions, and joined the flow of students out. He stepped quietly around a knot of first-years clinging to a Hufflepuff prefect, dodged a Ravenclaw with a gleam in his eye that screamed _library_, hooked two fingers in the back of a red-trimmed collar, and tugged Neville out of the crowd and halfway down a side staircase before the boy managed to twist free.

"What-?" Neville's eyes fell onto Kurama, and alarm gave way to complete bewilderment.

Kurama let his expression gentle, and tossed the boy a charmed wool cloak. "I have some errands to run. Would you like to come with?"

"I... uh... sure? Errands?"

"It's solstice," Kurama explained, as they headed the rest of the way down the stairs. "Some ingredients work differently if they're harvested today." There was just enough space at the bottom of the staircase for them to stand abreast and pull open the heavy oak door.

A layer of ice two inches thick hung in an icicle-fringed curtain just outside the door's alcove.

"What ingredients?" Neville asked, shoving at the ice and letting it fall in glassy, crashing heaps.

"Holly, ivy... hold on," Kurama caught at Neville's arm, using it for balance as he lifted his foot and grew a thorny vine around his boot. "Crampons," he explained, growing another vine around his other foot, careful to keep the sturdy thorns pointing outwards. "We'll break our necks trying to walk without them. Where was I?"

Neville helpfully parroted, "Holly, ivy," as he wrapped brambles around his winter boots.

"Ah, yes." Kurama stepped out into the weak daylight, flipping up his cloak hood against the frigid rain. "Them, and pine, and mistletoe." Neville stumbled right into Kurama's outstretched hand. "Careful there. It's a little tricky at first, walking in these."

"_Mistletoe_?" Neville squeaked.

"Something about maintaining the school brooms," Kurama replied guilelessly. "I wouldn't know."

Neville fell silent after that, saving his breath for the march to the outer walls, then the slippery scramble downhill past Hagrid's hut. By the time they reached the edge of the trees, Kurama was soaked through, and only the warming charms on his cloak were protecting him from a dangerous double dose of frostbite and hypothermia. And they hadn't even started.

It was going to be a long day.

Within the forest, ice gave way to wet leaf mold, the tree canopy having blocked out most of the freezing rain. Kurama pulled the thorns back into the vines, even though the wet leaves were almost as treacherous as ice. But leaving the crampons well-spiked was just asking to end up with a giant pile of leaves stuck to each foot.

... Like Neville had now.

Kurama chuckled, and showed Neville how to retract the thorns. Then he tugged at Neville's hand and knelt, the boy following. "Let me show you how to navigate without a map," he said, scooping leaves away until the ground lay bare, a few thin traceries of winter-brown bracken cutting across it. Kurama pulled Neville's hand to the dead stem on the ground, digging their fingertips in until he sensed life. "Think of the magic like water," he murmured. "Let it pour in, don't try to direct it or force it." He could feel the web of the fern's root system, spreading outwards between leaves and true dirt, running over other roots, which webbed out even further. Some dug into the soil, centimeters deep, meters deep, spreading in thick humps that pushed thick disks towards the sky - that was the tree system, then, and the magic wouldn't rise more than a few inches without the sap running. Further, further, look for rising sap, a conical shape, leaves broad and spike-tipped and thick-skinned... there!

"Find the holly?" he asked Neville. The boy's eyes opened, glazed and uncertain, so Kurama pointed with his free hand. "That way. High spot, shaped like a pine tree. Feel how the magic spreads flat at the very edges, and how it bounces back like there's a layer of rubber over it? That's a waxy broadleaf, and the thready bits coming off are spiked points. That's holly."

"Wow..."

"Pull gently back in, like you're drinking from a straw." He waited until he couldn't feel Neville's power in the roots anymore, then pulled their hands out of the dirt and kicked the leaves back into place. Neville swayed slightly, eyes slowly coming back into focus. "Neat, huh?" Kurama asked, not expecting an answer. "But it can wear you out rather quickly, and it's got a limited range. I'm sure you noticed." Neville nodded, and Kurama went on, "Plus, it leaves you vulnerable to anything nearby and hungry, and it won't do much for helping you find roads and towns. Any empty stretch you find could be a stone ridge, or a river, or a lake, instead of civilization. So stick to maps if you have the option, okay?"

"Okay."

They set off in the direction of the holly. Kurama had chosen to start with that tree for the simple reasons that they'd be more likely to grow near the edges of the forest, where the trees were more spread out and let patches of sunlight through for other trees to grow in, and that holly was one of the easier trees to start off with. Other broadleafed trees were hard to find the shape of, the way their leaves diffused the magic instead of bouncing it back off a waxy coat, and pine needles didn't allow enough space to feel the sensation very well.

"Keep an eye out for mistletoe," Kurama said, as they clambered over a ridge. He sensed more than heard Neville try not to react. "It'll look like a nest, like a clump of leaves stuck in the branches, only green." Not that they were likely to find any on this path. Hagrid had described the directions to a few mistletoe clusters all too well, and Kurama planned to circle around past them on the way back.

Soon enough, the forest opened up again, a sheet of paper-thin, lumpy ice crackling in the hollow around a tree almost - but not quite - like a pine. Kurama and Neville regrew the thorns on their crampons, and tramped downslope.

Unsurprisingly, a layer of ice a couple centimeters thick covered most of the leaves on the tree, melding together in a slick, translucent mass. Kurama spread the trailing bulk of his cloak over the protruding branches and held it there.

"When the leaves come loose," he told Neville, "we'll pick them individually. Don't force it if a leaf doesn't want to come off, and don't pick off any of the twigs. The magic will take it as a threat and flee back to the root."

Neville nodded, but curiosity shone in his eyes as he asked, "Is that how it works for all of them?"

"Very good," Kurama murmured. "It's how it works for the pine family. Mistletoe's magic will escape into its host unless you use a gold blade; I've got one in my boot." He offered a small, wry grin. "Professor Sprout had to tell me that. As for ivy... ivy's easy. If you ask it politely, eventually you'll find a plant that doesn't mind dropping a few garlands right off the wall. We'll do that back up at the school." He pulled the cloak free, water dripping freely from the heavy wool and holly leaves alike, then began brushing roughly at the branches.

The leaves didn't exactly shower down, even after Neville joined in, but Kurama had put just enough of a call into his hands - _loose? where? come?_ - that a respectable, steady fall began piling greenery up at their feet. Fortunately, holly could touch the ground; the mistletoe would be harder.

"Neville, if you would..." Kurama flicked a seed out, sprouting a deep, dried-out pitcher flower between two fingers. Neville took it and started scooping leaves inside.

The impulse came out of nowhere. "I'd like to ask a favor." In the corner of Kurama's vision, Neville stilled, but Kurama didn't pause to face the boy. "I... there is something important happening tonight." Yukina dancing solstice, Hiei near-comatose on the fire hearth. "And you know our classmates..." The momentary reflex-to-kill, Harry's eyes huge and bewildered in the firelight, flitted across his memory and vanished. "It's none of their business."

Neville tilted his head. "What are you asking me to do?"

"I'm not entirely sure, actually," Kurama admitted. "If you can think of anything that would distract Gryffindor, keep them in the house... I can handle Slytherin, but... well..."

"Harry?"

Kurama chuckled ruefully. "It's that obvious?"

"Five and a half years," Neville answered. "Kind of hard not to notice the trouble he gets into. But... if you can get me a couple cases of Firewhiskey..."

-0-0-0-

Harry woke with a screaming headache (again) and a taste rather like a moldy sock had been shoved in his mouth. And for some reason, he was still half-dressed, his pillow was under his feet, and he had the strangest feeling there were still a few feathers sprouting from his ears.

... Oh. Right. Second night of the "Snakeface's attack failed somewhere" party. Up Gryffindor and all that. Where was the Pepper-Up?

One hand patted near his head. Not finding anything, Harry stretched, finding the edge of the mattress. Straight down, try not to sway the curtain too much - ow, daylight, evil sun, it was gonna get hexed if it kept up that Merlin-cursed _shining _- and there, safely out of the way of clumsy feet, a familiar bulbous little bottle sat in the lee of the bedpost.

Harry scooped it up and drank. Steam whistled from his ears, killing the evil little gnome that had been swinging a red-hot pickaxe in his head, and suddenly the world came into focus. Weak daylight spilled through the windows, perfectly innocuous and nothing like the evil shining of before.

Somebody must've spiked the Butterbeer.

And... as images of silver frames in an empty room, pictures of fire and glinting boxes, trickled back into his mind... somebody else, of the bushy-haired and brilliant variety, must've neglected to make sure he was sober before reminding him what last night had been. Solstice. Another of the cross-quarter visions.

Harry dug into his trunk, conveniently right there next to his head, and dragged out a quill and parchment. Inkpot, inkpot... there, jammed in between his bundled-up Dursley clothes and a forgotten bag of Honeyduke fudge. Now why would he have let half a bag of fudge go to waste...?

Wait. It had been in his schoolbag back on Halloween, unsupervised while he'd rung up firsties in the twins' makeshift shop. Okay then. Gift for the twins.

Harry dipped his quill into the ink and began to write down what he remembered of the vision. It was fairly easy - this one hadn't been all that much different from the previous three, though it had lacked the clinging, protective blue-green mist from Halloween, and the images in the frames were getting clearer every time.

Fire. Darkness. Light flickering off spindly square box-edges. Every frame a different place; inside a warehouse, a barn, out in a field, under cold rain (so at least one spot was in Scotland), somewhere in the peculiar empty black that spoke of the night sea. In the smallest frame, there was an entirely different quality of blank blackness, the only frame lacking fire- lacking anything at all, really.

As he continued writing, trying to get the fading memories out on paper before they vanished, he heard his dormmates start to wake up. Low groans, much like his own had been; some thuds as someone stumbled out of bed and made his zombielike way to the bathroom. A high-pitched squeak and the slap of running, light feet, a hint of fake flowers in the scent. Harry decided he didn't want to know who'd fallen asleep in here instead of her own bed, or why.

Harry finished with a quick, bad sketch of the pictures on the vision's wall, then charmed the ink dry and stuck them into the pocket of the first clothes he found in the trunk: a pair of Muggle jeans, perfectly fine for breakfast since he wasn't some stuck-up Slytherin. A couple Freshening Charms saved him from risking the bathroom, and left him smelling, if not fresh as a daisy, at least not like he'd been in a Gryffindor party all night. An oversized sweater (that, for once, hadn't been Dudley's) and shoes, skip looking for his brush since it made no difference, and Harry headed out with a cluster of first- and second-years.

He found Hermione already at the table, a book open next to her plate and a slightly wistful expression as she watched exuberant Ravenclaws jostle each other at their table.

Harry followed the look - huh, the Hufflepuffs looked pretty happy too, though the Slytherins were just as sullen as ever - then plopped down next to his friend. "Morning. What's going on?"

Hermione turned a long-suffering stare on him. "While we - and by we, I mean mostly all of you - were dancing, singing off-key, playing 'how many people can we fit into the ceiling arches', and attempting to break records for chaos at Hogwarts - which you didn't, by the way, thank Merlin - the Ravenclaws were holding _competitive debates_!" She finished in a low wail.

"Oh." Given Hermione's idea of fun really didn't include drunken singing... "I'm sorry. Um." He scrambled for something to say that didn't sound stupid, and paper crinkled in his pocket. "Oh. Maybe this will cheer you up," he decided aloud, handing over the scribbled description of his quarterly vision.

Sure enough, Hermione's eyes lit up. "What's this... oh. _Oh_. It was last night, wasn't it..." And she was off, breakfast abandoned and unguarded as she dived into the fresh information.

Harry stole a couple sausages, just on general principle, and watched several variations of Hermione's 'thinking' expression steal over her face. It was kind of funny. Ron had catalogued a few of them over the years: there was 'ye olde spelling faelyure', promptly followed by its near-twin (which Harry had named) 'grammar is knowing Yoda, yes', then both of them were overthrown by the more intent looks Hermione got when she started reading for content instead.

"Thirteen," she eventually murmured. "And... hm. You're sure He's not aware you're seeing this...?" She gestured at the page, fingertip running crosswise over _center frame, YKW cursing away ice, valley didn't have Muggle streetlights_.

"No, Hermione," Harry said dryly. "I actually think He's doing it on purpose, all 'look what I'm doing, neener neener'."

Hermione very nearly choked, giving him a wild-eyed glance. "Are you sure you're not still drunk?"

"Pepper-Up."

"Right." Hermione sighed. "Still drunk."

"I am not!"

"Not what?" Ron shoved in on Harry's other side, yawning.

"Drunk," Harry explained. "I took Pepper-Up."

"Oh." Waving a wisp of steam away from his own ear, Ron shrugged. "Kinda sorta. Makes you feel better, makes you only mostly sober. Why?"

"_Later_," Hermione warned, loading up Ron's plate. "Breakfast is almost over." Ron looked down and went slightly green, and Hermione hid a superior little snort. "'Mostly sober,' he says."

The food vanished before Ron could respond (or eat anything, for which he looked grateful), and a loud clap drew Harry's attention to the front table, where Dumbledore had stood to beam at the assembled students.

... Harry could swear that Dumbledore's smile had _sparkled _when he glanced over the Gryffindors. Several of the more rumpled-looking kids, the ones who looked like they hadn't been able to find Pepper-up this morning, whimpered.

"I see I'm not the only one who had a fun - if regrettably late - night," Dumbledore began cheerfully. Across the room, the Slytherins scowled _en masse_. "A few announcements, then, and we can all go back to our beds.

"First, for when we're all properly awake, I must insist that students please refrain from leaving the roofed sections of the building. Despite the lull in the storm, there is still far too much ice on the grounds and in the courtyards for one's safety... and there are far too few brooms to allow students to share.

"Second, Professor Sprout had such success with last night's Portrait Plays marathon, that Hufflepuff is hosting an open-house showing of their Christmas repertoire starting this afternoon, right here in the Great Hall!" Dumbledore gestured at a beaming Sprout. "I believe they have an excellent rendition of _Yule Be Home, A Transfiguration Story_."

A happy murmur rippled through the younger students. "And lastly, after _much _debate," the Headmaster smiled even more brightly, "the staff and I have decided to hold a full-school Masquerade on New Year's Eve!"

Noise. Somewhere behind Harry and across the table, Yuusuke groaned. "Maske-what?"

Hermione turned. "Masquerade," she corrected. Out came expression number nine, 'simple words for simpletons'. (Harry and Ron hadn't been very creative early on.) "It's a fancy costume party."

"Oh. Cool," Yuusuke decided. "There gonna be food?"

Ron leaned back. "'S never a party without food," he said sagely.

Up at the head table, Dumbledore gestured for quiet. "Your professors and prefects will be available to assist with costuming," he said, as if he'd actually asked the prefects. Harry knew he hadn't been asked, and Hermione would've never been able to keep from bouncing off the walls if she'd known. "And I'm sure that the other upperclassmen will be delighted to lend a hand as well."

Subtle. But considering half the school still wasn't entirely awake, and half of the rest were Slytherins, Harry supposed that subtle hints to help out the little kids wouldn't go much of anywhere.

Behind him, Yuusuke started chuckling madly.

"What?" Kuwabara asked.

"Just wondering something," Yuusuke answered. "What's Yukina gonna make Hiei wear?"

Everyone within earshot paused. Then, the entire table burst into laughter.

-0-0-0

TBC

A/N's -

- Holly for preservation aerosols - potions administered by smoke and steam, Madam Pince uses them in the library over the summer. Mistletoe for upkeep of the school brooms. Ivy for solvents, the yin to holly's yang. Pine for Christmas trees, so Hagrid doesn't have to risk his neck fetching a dozen for the Hall.

- navigation technique based on Tamora Pierce

- I think Hufflepuff had the best 'keep the kids out of mischief' technique, and Slytherin had the worst. Wizarding version of movie night, vs. Snape's 'lock them in and let them fume'.

- Yule Be Home: A Transfiguration Story. The feel-good tale of a miserly man Transfigured into a family home for the holidays


	27. Image

Warnings, disclaimers, blah.

Ch. 27 - Image

Harry spent the rest of Sunday morning half-asleep, and when he stumbled downstairs again after lunch, he found the Gryffindor common room piled high with parchments, open books, and something he hadn't seen since he was ten: colored pencils.

He picked one up, peering at the gold-stamped logo. "Huh. Where'd these come from?" A first-year girl glanced up, looked around the room, then pointed at Dean. Well, that made sense. Harry then looked down at the parchments: someone had drawn a credible sketch of a human figure on them all. One grinned up at him and tipped its blocky, lopsided hat in a greeting, making the first-year yelp and jerk the pencil away.

"Go away," she told Harry. "You're making me mess up."

Sheesh. "Sorry," Harry muttered, a bit offended. It was pretty obvious the kids were starting to design their costumes for the party Dumbledore mentioned, and just as obvious that they were probably going to need the whole... what was today, the 22nd... nine days to end up with something that didn't look like they'd cut up a blanket. Maybe Ginny could help. Molly would've taught her something about clothesmaking, right? Since Molly knew enough that her holiday jumpers always managed to fit.

With the owl post down, he wasn't going to get a jumper on Christmas morning this year.

Suddenly, Harry didn't really feel that curious about the costumes anymore.

"Harry!" Ron slung his arm around Harry's shoulders, yanking him off-balance and stumbling the two of them to the portrait hole. "Come on, I got a copy of Hufflepuff's showing schedule; they're starting with _Martin Miggs and the Muggle Mistletoe_ in ten minutes. Can't miss that! Hey, have you seen Hermione?" They lurched into the hallway, Ron answering himself before Harry could. "She's probably downstairs already, she was talking about cultural studies or something. A bit barmy, but hey, whatever excuse she needs, right? Man, I haven't seen this since I was ten..."

Harry tuned Ron out in favor of half-heartedly squirming until he could walk somewhat normally, instead of sideways, and still breathe past Ron's arm.

"... put up this huge copy in the square at the end of Diagon Alley every Saturday in December, it's a total madhouse. Hey, I wonder if Hufflepuff will have roasted chestnuts? The schedule said they'd have food. Probably won't be as good as Diagon, though. Lots of places put up booths and sell stuff you can't get the rest of the year, like Fortesque's Fourteen Festive Flavours. It's ice cream only really hot." Ron paused a moment to grin. "Only flavor I never liked was wassail, but they never sold it to kids anyway. Mum hexed us good the time the twins snuck us some, turns out it's spiced mead..."

An image bloomed in Harry's mind: being small and crowded in with robed people, cloaks in festive winter-dark reds and greens, a firm but gentle grip on his hand, Sirius happy and well and filling his arms with colorful paper bags that steamed and smelled sweet. _And one for you too, Moony! Hurry up, we gotta get good seats_...

"Hurry up, Harry, we gotta get good seats!"

The image shattered, replaced by the familiar lines of the Great Hall, made strange by long rows of benches stretching across the floor, tables groaning with snacks along each wall, and a massive painting being levitated into place in front of the stained-glass windows at the far end. The canvas showed a cartoon-style man in powder-blue tails and matching woman's hat, brandishing a pink lawn flamingo and striking a heroic pose.

Wizards really did have weird ideas about Muggles.

Up in the third row, a hand waved over the milling students' heads, Hermione bouncing a bit to catch their attention.

"Hey, Ron? Why don't you go tell Hermione about all that stuff in Diagon Square? I'll get the food."

"Okay!" Ron didn't seem to notice the strange note to Harry's voice, agreeably bouncing off, scooping up Ginny on the way and vanishing into the crowd.

Harry sighed.

Oblivious.

-0-0-0

_Hiss!_

Draco ignored the alabaster dragon snapping next to his ear with a certain impressive aplomb, if he did say so himself. His sole present (Merlin, how depressing, it just wasn't Christmas with only one gift) snapped again at the second-year who'd gotten a little too close, then settled back around Draco's neck and went inanimate once more.

If only Pansy would do the same. Or at least stop clinging to Draco, except that Draco knew she wasn't about to do either. Not the way her fingers were tracing out a vaguely familiar shape on the inside of his forearm.

"I had my robes all picked out for the soiree Draco's parents throw every year," she was saying, bemoaning their plight to a captive audience of Crabbe, Goyle, and several girls from 5th to 7th year. "It's the event of the season. _You know_," her nails dug in slightly, muffled by the fabric of his shirt, "Everybody who's _anybody _goes. But I simply _can't _wear the dress to a school dance." A titter. "It would be terribly rude to outshine the professors, even if this weren't some horrid little costume party. Isn't it just _dreadful_, Draco dear?"

Draco managed a convincing nod, and she turned back to her audience.

"I cannot believe that we have to make do with homemade clothing," Pansy's shudder covered the tracing of the snake from the skull-mouth, and the twitch when she tapped his guardian bracelet before starting the return stroke. "Though I would be in just a _state _if I had to wear nice clothes, considering the guest list. You know how poor the Gryffindors' manners are." Her hand finally flew away, manicured nails flashing against her mouth. "What if they got _mud _on my lovely robes?" she gasped, as if she'd just thought of it, then she clutched at Draco's shoulder. "Oh, Draco, I couldn't stand it, I just _couldn't_!"

Shrugging Pansy off only worked half the time, but Draco added a commiserating pat to her hand - _laying it on too thick, girl, even if the dramatics are half the fun; so get to the message already_ - and she subsided. "I'm sure your robes are safe," he said, with false notes of both boredom and attentiveness in his voice. "You'd hardly have brought anything that nice here, anyway."

"I almost did, though," Pansy admitted, in a half-hushed wail. "I had my eye on a much nicer gift than that lovely dragon," On Draco's shoulder, the statuette preened. "But the vendors were _remarkably _unbearable this year. You'd think they had to _report _every petty charm to their lords."

Remark, report, lord... Mark, Port, Lord...

Draco's stomach lurched. Dark Mark, Portkey, Dark Lord.

"I don't know why I bother shopping in Hogsmeade, I really don't," Pansy finished in a huff.

If Dumbledore hadn't made a point to announce that Portkeys were too dangerous to make, Draco would've been on his knees at Voldemort's feet hours, if not days, ago. And if that had happened...

It didn't matter what the demons thought. Voldemort wasn't an idiot. Draco's initial disappearance could've been chance. The convenient 'memory loss', with Dumbledore's conniving to get Trista's monitoring bracelet on Draco, that might have been coincidence. But with the unprecedented ice storm blocking Draco's return yet again...

Right now, someone - Draco didn't particularly care who, but _someone - _had better have an amazing plan in store to protect him after the holidays.

-0-0-0

Kurama's view of a not-so-visibly worried Draco was blocked by a long fall of dark hair, then a curvy girl in mint-green robes perched herself lightly on the arm of his chair. "Good morning!" she said cheerfully, and the happy tone matched itself to a name: Daphne Greengrass.

"Good morning. Happy Christmas," Kurama politely replied. He didn't know the girl very well, aside from occasional teasing in the common room - she had a knack for making her comments seem indiscriminate and lighthearted, which was a definite rarity in Slytherin.

"To you too," she agreed, hands landing pertly on her crossed knee. "Let's chat."

"Hm." Kurama pretended to think about it. "What do we have to chat about, I wonder?"

Daphne 'hm'd back at him in the same tone he'd used. "What indeed? Not much on everyone's mind at the moment." She shrugged. "Weather, family, parties..."

"The weather gets rather old after a week," Kurama pointed out.

"So it does."

"And I wasn't planning to go home, so I'm hardly in a position to bemoan staying here," he added.

"Though we could always bemoan the company." Daphne's eyes flicked upwards, then returned to Kurama. "But that gets 'rather old' after six years."

"So, I suppose," Kurama said, "that if we were interested in the popular topics, we're limited to the coming masquerade." Daphne's smile stayed perfectly in place, so Kurama relaxed back into his comfortable chair. "I do wonder what people have in mind for costumes. Or if I'll even recognize the references."

"Plenty of people will be happy to explain theirs," Daphne told him. "I personally plan to go as my namesake." At Kurama's raised eyebrow, she said, "Daphne was a Grecian witch, who turned herself into a laurel tree to escape an... overly ardent suitor, shall we say."

Turned into a tree. And suddenly, the conversation made sense. "And so you came to me." Daphne grinned, and Kurama asked, "Why not Longbottom?"

Her face twisted into a little moue of distaste. "He's a Gryffindor. He'd suddenly think we were 'friends' and I would go help him in a fight, or something." Kurama nodded - she wasn't entirely wrong, though Hiei proved not all Gryffindors were like that. "Besides," she added, peering up from under her lashes, "he's the apprentice. You're the master."

Kurama laughed. "Flattery gets you nowhere. Even if it's the truth. But I do get your point, so. What do I get in return?"

"Well..." She eyed him up and down. "How would you like a costume people will recognize? Instead of having to repeat the story all night?"

"Appealing," Kurama admitted. Though wearing some face paint and carrying a strap of the spidervine webbing from last year had some appeal too, mostly for the look on Yuusuke's face when he eventually recognized 'Rando', the spider demon from Genkai's tournament. Hm. Two seconds of amusement, versus several hours and a hundred-or-more repetitions of the same tired old story.

Not really much of a contest.

Kurama pushed gently at Daphne's hip, dislodging her from the chair. "Come up with some concept sketches, and I'll see what I can do." As for him... the clock against the wall began to chime softly, one hand on '_Conveniently On Time_'. Kurama stood, the hand ratching discreetly back to its original position, and quietly left.

The halls were fairly deserted despite the late morning hour. Kurama guessed that it was probably for the same reason the Slytherin common room had been relatively full: people were taking the holiday to enjoy a lie-in, or playing with what few presents they'd recieved, or opening said presents with relatives in the school.

Convenient, that last one. Not that Yukina and Hiei really were cozied up with presents in the Infirmary, not yet, but as long as the school thought they were, no one would go asking questions.

Kurama heard them before he saw them, Kuwabara's distinctive voice ringing off the stone walls over Yukina's muffled giggles. He turned the corner to find familiar red eyes glowering, half-lidded, at him over Kuwabara's shoulder: Hiei looked very nearly asleep, or unconscious. A thrum of alarm flickered in the back of Kurama's mind, but Yukina was nearly bouncing at Kuwabara's side, unworried by her brother's exhaustion, and it made Kurama relax into slight amusement.

Hiei must've put his all into the link to call the next ice storm. There wasn't any other reason for him to be slumped on Kuwabara's back without protest. After all, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him help with the storms if he hadn't fully recovered from the Jagan curse.

"...on't worry, Kazuma," Yukina was saying, as Kurama got close enough to make out words. "I think the superhero theme suits you." She cast a wry glance at Hiei. "Now, Hiei-niichan, I have no idea why sand. You'd think he'd have a soul of fire."

Kurama nearly tripped, catching himself gracefully on the Infirmary doors as if he'd meant to push them open for the three. "Good morning. What are we talking about?"

"Hiei-niichan's mind," Yukina replied guilelessly. Hiei barely growled, knuckles going white in Kuwabara's shirt, as she added, "It looks like a desert."

Yukina really trusts me too much, Kurama decided. "That sounds..." _completely unlike any sort of telepathy I've ever encountered. Dreamwalking, perhaps, but that's a different branch of magic entirely._ "... unusual."

_ I don't like it._

"That's what we think," Kuwabara agreed, swinging Hiei onto the bed with a false carelessness. "I guess it fits the shrimp-"

Hiei grunted something vaguely insulting.

"-but I dunno. Yukina-chan thinks it's weird."

"It does seem so," Kurama agreed. "But I think perhaps you should table this discussion until Hiei's awake enough to join in." He gestured to where Hiei was tense but already half-asleep on top of the bedsheets. "How about you go let yourselves be seen? Keep up Kuwabara's alibi." Yukina glanced worriedly at Hiei, and Kurama added, "I'll stay." A small smile. "It's quieter here than in Slytherin right now."

Yukina and Kuwabara shared a look. "Well... if you're sure..."

"If I hear one more word about the Malfoy Christmas Ball..." Kurama made a face, letting them fill in the blank for themselves.

"Gotcha," Kuwabara said, taking Yukina by the hand. "We'll see you at lunch. Bye!"

"Bye." Kurama waved, smiling as the pair left. He waited until the door fell shut, and Kuwabara's voice faded into silence. Then Kurama reached into his hair and pulled out a small seed. Taking a deep breath, he grew a bulbous, red-throated flower, and waved the opening right under Hiei's nose.

Hiei jerked violently awake, and Kurama barely got his hand out of the way (and the stinking flower shrunk back to a seed) before both got crushed. "What the _fuck_...?"

"You're awake," Kurama answered, tucking the seed away. "Now. What's this about a desert in your soul?"

Hiei sucked in a breath of clear air, glaring lowly at Kurama, understanding flickering in his eyes. "How the fuck should I know?" he growled, settling into a wary crouch on the bed.

"Exactly," Kurama replied. "That's not how your Jagan works, from what I understand of it." A beat, long enough for Hiei to contradict him if he was wrong. Then Kurama murmured, "It seems a strange effect of Keiko's magic."

"You woke me for this?" Hiei muttered, lifting a hand to cover his eyes in exasperation. "I'm not arguing theories of magic with you."

"No, you wouldn't," Kurama agreed. "How do we know it's not dangerous?"

Hiei's hand fell, and he stared at Kurama incredulously. "The _Kokuryuuha _was dangerous. The _Jagan _was dangerous. Why the _hell _does it matter if this is or not?"

_I don't know. _ "Because it affects Yukina?" Kurama asked. The words came out weak-sounding, even to him, but it must've been enough.

Hiei fell silent for a long moment, face going stiff and cold. "What do you want?"

Kurama opened his mouth, then closed it again.

After a long silence, Hiei arched an eyebrow. _No answer?_

Kurama shrugged, and waited.

After another long moment, Hiei seemed to relax. "Fine." Curiosity flickered through his eyes. "Whatever. We'll work on figuring it out," Kurama grinned, and Hiei sharply added, "_After _I've finished sleeping."

And with that, he settled back onto the bed, rolled over, and ignored Kurama for the rest of the day.

TBC

A/N's -

- Martin Miggs and the Muggle Mistletoe, a family favorite featuring Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Watch Martin attempt to rescue Santa and the North Pole from dire threat of the Muggle Ministry's stolen Missile, TOE.


	28. Under Masks

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's - remember, Imperius is the spell name, Imperio is the incantation to cast it.

Ch. 28 - Under Masks

Kurama was prudent enough to let Hiei stew for a couple of days over the whole prospect of studying Keiko's link before coming back. Hiei took the time to consider every angle he could think of for why the stupid fox was pushing the idea at all.

A potential flaw in an ally's - in Hiei's - defenses, to be addressed and fixed before said ally got him killed. Sure. Entirely reasonable. And if it so happened to be a potential flaw to exploit later on... well, that was reasonable too.

The one thing Hiei could be sure the fox was not, was reasonable. Ruthless, manipulative, predictable... sure, if he was in a fight. But... then there was the rest of it.

Hiei had the sinking feeling that Kurama _honestly wanted to help_.

And somehow, he couldn't bring himself to be paranoid about it.

The door creaked open (_one more week stuck here, just one more damned week, and this stupid ruse to hide the storm-making will be _over), and Kurama entered quietly, shutting the door behind him as if anyone would care whether it banged shut or not.

He was alone.

"Where's the girl?" Hiei asked gruffly.

Kurama turned back from the doors, his face a pleasant mask as he walked over. "I thought we'd first see if you can form the link without Keiko-san." Hiei raised an eyebrow, and after an expectant beat, Kurama went on, "After all, if you can't do it on purpose, it's likely you won't by accident. Which is one less danger to be aware of." A quirked smile. "Right?"

Except for the part where it went against all the magical theory Hiei knew, Kurama had a point. Then again, the mess with Keiko getting magic implanted in her in the first place was just as implausible... "Fine. Sit."

Kurama did, pulling the privacy curtain behind him. A dropped seed sprouted and tangled in the outer corner, sticking the fabric to the floor. It wouldn't be enough to truly stop anyone from getting in - not a good idea, if something did go wrong - but it would help prevent accidental interruptions.

Hiei reached up to pull his headband free, and Kurama asked, "Is that really necessary?"

"Probably," Hiei replied. "Whatever Keiko did, it's more like telepathy than anything I can do naturally." Which meant using the Jagan; its clairvoyance was far closer to the mind arts than the elemental ones.

The thick white cloth fell, and the world went oddly translucent and multi-colored. The walls of Hogwarts failed to hide the softly glowing web of its magic, or the fluttering pulses of life in the Houses and the Owlery. Hiei could see out to the aged-gold weave of the Squid in the lake, tentacles trailing out behind it.

_Focus_.

He didn't need to see past the Infirmary walls. Just inside, close by, where there were quicksilver sparks in the bottles on the Infirmary shelves, at Kurama's fingertips, and in the seeds in his hair.

_Closer_.

The silvery sparks had a heartbeat, slow and barely there, but enough that they shed gauzy wisps with every pulse. The wisps drifted across Kurama's face, hitching as they crossed his nose, and dissipated into tattered threads with every breath.

Hiei reached out with one violet-misted hand, fingertips brushing through the silver drifting across Kurama's eyes, and pinched.

Nothing. The pale mist of Kurama's magic fell through Hiei's fingers like they weren't even there.

Remembering the strange twist Keiko had used, Hiei tried again, pinching and twisting this time. But the magic may as well have been smoke... worse than smoke; at least if there was ash and heat, Hiei could manage to coax enough fire out to be able to handle it.

He huffed out a sharp breath, earning a raised eyebrow. "Nothing?" Kurama asked.

"I can see it," Hiei admitted.

Kurama's gaze softened, thoughtful. "I see," he murmured. "So we were probably wrong, assuming that the link was a new power of the Jagan." Hiei twitched, stung; Kurama was right, they hadn't once considered that maybe the magic was _Keiko's _instead. "I wonder if... even if you can't make the link, if you could break it?" he mused, focusing on Hiei once more. "From the outside, I mean."

Something about the tone set Hiei on edge. "Probably not," he answered warily.

"Then, if it's hard to break from the outside... and you have to know how to do it from the inside..." Kurama's eyes crinkled in a calculating little smile. "I wonder what her range is?"

Range...? Waitaminute. If it was hard to break the link, and it knocked people unconscious, and Kurama was speaking in terms of range... which would, of course, be range of_ attack_...

_I should've thought of it myself._

No wonder Kurama wanted to study the link. The more they knew about it, the better they'd be able to defend against it.

Hiei bared his teeth in a grin.

-0-0-0

One more 'subtle' mention of Merlin (or Godric Gryffindor, Thor, or _Superman_... the Creeveys needed a good shaking for that last one, really they did), and Harry was going to go spare.

He threw himself into a chair half-hidden by Hermione and a tall bookcase, grabbed the top book in her 'discard' pile (at this hour, it would be the taller stack... plus, she always put the finished books face-down), and brought it up in front of his head to finish hiding himself.

"It's upside-down, Harry."

Harry automatically flipped the book right-side-up, then flipped it again. Maybe he'd wanted to read it upside-down, so there. ... Oooor, spotting the title, maybe he didn't really want to read it at all. Potions. Ugh. He set the book aside and peered over Hermione's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

She helpfully tilted the book to show a drawing of a 16th-century woman, heavy robes flaring out as she spun artfully on the page. "Picking out a costume."

Not the bloody ball again. "I thought you were doing the," Harry twirled a finger, "the myth thing. Hermione of Troy."

"Well." Hermione went slightly red. "I thought about it, and I realized that there's naturally going to be a preponderence of togas at the masquerade, given that wizarding culture draws heavily on the Greco-Roman influence. After all, most of the spells are obviously of Latin derivation," Harry felt his eyes glaze over, but he blinked and mentally shook himself as Hermione went on, "So I decided I need a costume that isn't a toga." A slight, wry smile. "Besides, copying my namesake is horribly unclever anyway. So I thought I'd start from the Shakespeare instead, and from there I found a real Sicilian-Spanish queen of the time - Joanna of Castile, though of course her name was really Juana - and there are several portraits and books to help me with the robes."

"Uh huh." Sometimes, the way Hermione's mind worked was just _scary_.

"What about you?" she asked, eyes bright and curious.

Harry groaned, letting his head fall onto his arm. "I dunno," he grumbled. "I think everybody's expecting me to go as some sort of grand hero." Several days of ever-so-subtle hints were a bit of a dead giveaway, there. "Besides myself, I mean."

"Ignore them," she said flatly. "What do you _want _to go as?"

"I don't-"

"Just give me some adjectives. Scary? Handsome? Fun? Happy?"

"Fun and happy," Harry agreed. "Normal."

"You're going to have to be recognizeable, too," Hermione pointed out.

An unmistakable flash of color flickered in the corner of Harry's vision. He blinked, lifting his head to see Ginny laughing with several girls across the room. Recognizeable. Fun. Happy. Normal. "... Can you charm my hair red?"

"Red?" Hermione echoed. She followed his gaze, then kicked him sharply in the ankle. "You're not going as Ron. _Honestly_, Harry!"

"No! No. Not as Ron." Ron would never get it, or let him live it down. But... "I have a better idea."

"Harry James Potter..."

"I swear! You'll love it, Hermione, it's brilliant, no one's ever going to expect it."

"... I reserve full veto power. Now tell me."

Harry did.

-0-0-0

It had taken exactly one word - Imperius - to convince a horrified Keiko to train her newfound weapon on them. Kurama hadn't even had to go into the longer explanation: that if an enemy used the Unforgiveable curse to _make _her attack, the more experience her allies had in breaking free, the better.

"And the fewer people I start with," she'd mused, "the fewer are at risk if something unexpected happens. And since you two have the most experience..."

She'd practically convinced herself.

"Bravo," Hiei had muttered dryly later, when Kurama was recounting the discussion. "You're a cunning bastard."

It wasn't meant to be a compliment. More a statement of the obvious. Kurama took it as a compliment anyway, and headed out to fetch Keiko for the first session. Which was when things had gone wrong.

"We scheduled summonings on Thursday and Monday so that everyone would have a chance to _rest_," Keiko had flatly informed him. "If you absolutely cannot wait until next Friday, when we're _finished_," Her eyes flashed with the threat of dire consequences if someone didn't have enough patience to suit her. It was almost cute, and would have been hilarious if it had been directed at Yuusuke or Kuwabara, "You're going to have to settle for a short session on Saturday. Short! I'll bring you out of it myself in five minutes if you don't."

So here it was, Saturday - Saturday _afternoon_, just to add insult to injury - and now Keiko was balking _again_.

"From _there_?" she asked, eyes flickering to the far side of the room and back incredulously. "Kurama-san, if I were like Kuwabara-san, maybe I'd just jump in the deep end like that and hope not to knock myself out, but _I'm not him_. I am going to 'attack' from right here," she pointed at the floor under her feet, little more than a meter from Hiei and Kurama themselves, "which is already considerably farther than I'm used to. And then we can build up my range from there, the _normal _way."

Pampered little brat. The normal way _was _to get thrown in the deep end and hope to survive it, though Yuusuke would probably have problems with studying Keiko's abilities that way. So Kurama faked a chuckle, getting a sharp and unamused look from Hiei, and subsided into an armchair next to the little demon. "As you say," he replied coolly, glancing airily away. "Whenever you're rea-"

A flicker of fingers out of the corner of his eye, and

_The scent of flowers hung thick in the misty air._

_ Kurama looked around at the dim woods - familiar, so familiar, the sharp incline under his slippered feet hinting at mountains, a pristine forest like hadn't been seen in Japan in centuries - and stretched, inhaling deeply._

_ - the rustle of mice in lush undergrowth, warm blood in his mouth, and had that vine _really _moved to catch it for him? -_

_ Cool air brushed over his bare arms, carrying the peculiar sharp bite of the very early morning. Strange, that the fog should be so thick just before dawn, when it should still be dew dripping off every leaf, but it did feel right somehow..._

_ Kurama's tail swung in pleasure._

_ He blinked. Tail?_

_ A glance down confirmed it: strong, pale arms; claw-tipped fingers; white clothes; a silvery tail flicking into view. He was Youko in here. Though... there looked to be a trace of green thread at the hem of his robe, a few stray red hairs in his tail tip._

_ Odd._

_ But he had work to do. Which way to locate the link to Hiei...?_

_ Leaves rustled somewhere off to his left._

_ Hiei had _better _not be in here already, Kurama thought, slipping noiselessly into the underbrush that had seemed so impenetrable a moment ago. It was one thing to form the link, something else entirely to sneak in before Kurama had even located the point of connection._

_ ... Except, as the treetops rustled again without benefit of a breeze, Hiei wasn't clumsy like this. Though Kurama wouldn't put it past the trees to tell him..._

_ Oh._

_ Of course. They were leading him to the link._

_ He darted across a thick, moss-covered tree trunk that bridged an ivy-coated ravine, a sliver of empty twilight sky flashing between the canopy above. The far side of the ravine dropped sharply in hairpin turns, crooked pines still rooted somewhere under the ivy. Needles shook, beckoning Kurama down._

_ A trickle of water lay choked in fallen leaves, wet and brown and trailing back to a dead-end ivy grotto, where the fog broke in a clear semi-circle before a pair of maples in full autumn leaf. The two vibrant trees formed each side of a tori'i-style gate, faint eddies swirling at the edge of a buffeting heat Kurama could feel from here. Within the circle, everything was starting to wilt already; a few maple leaves seemed to be crisping at the edges._

_ On the far side of the gate, a small, hard face nearly glowed with moonlight._

_ "Hello, Hiei."_

_ The little demon looked a bit shorter than usual, even given that Kurama was taller. His hair, usually bristly anyway, seemed heavier, more like fur than much-washed human hair. And although he wore a concealing brown cloak that had seen better days, it did little to hide the lean and hungry lines in his face._

_ The Jagan eye was missing._

_ There was no mistaking that this Hiei was the image of a feral Makai bandit, nor that Kurama wore the body he expected to have as well._

_ However..._

Kurama jerked awake with a resounding thump. He barely managed to stop the rose that sprouted in his hand, thorn digging into his palm, before it became visible.

"Five minutes?" he asked instead, voice perfectly controlled.

"Yes," Keiko answered. "How was it?"

"Intriguing." And very, very worrying. If just five minutes had started doing damage - if the wilting leaves had meant that - on Kurama's side, what was happening on Hiei's?

They were going to have to find out. Fast.

-0-0-0

Later that evening, down in the Slytherin dorms, Kurama double-checked the ties on the crude fur trousers Daphne had handed him moments before, then opened the door to his room. "I'm decent," he said simply.

"Wonderful," Daphne answered, following him into the dorm with a plain wooden chair tapping in her wake. "Take a seat." He did, and she knelt, poking the hem of his tunic up and out of the way with her wand. "That obviously won't do," she muttered, a dismissive eye on the fabric, as she picked up his foot, cool fingers articulating his ankle and toes in a matter-of-fact way. "Definitely a toga." Her wand tapped at his heel, then up the top of his foot from big toe to shin, ending with the tip halfway to his knee. More mutterings, and she pushed at his knee, hands circling just above the joint and pressing at the sides.

If she got much higher, they were going to have words.

But she let go, jotting notes onto a piece of parchment. "How's your sense of balance?" she asked. "Ice skate much?"

Kurama winced. "Not often. I only last year got the hang of it." After several introductions, face-first, to the snowdrifts around the lake. Though it had inspired Hiei to come and haul him around half the night...

She glanced up at him, face carefully void of expression. "We'll try it without the hip transfigurations first, then," she said, barely managing not to go pink. "But if you can't walk after a couple hours' practice..."

A dire threat indeed, being felt up by a Slytherin girl, Kurama thought dryly. "I'll do my best," he promised. "Whenever you're ready?"

Daphne looked away, back at Kurama's foot, then looped her wand in a complex pattern and murmured, "_Abeo capracus cruris_."

Pressure squeezed at the sides of his foot like a too-tight sock, then stretched from toe to heel. His knee then seemed to pull his heel up, as his middle two toes went thick, dark, and oddly warm, then with a final shuddering twist-and-squeeze, his three remaining toes slid to the mid-underside of his foot and shrank to nubs.

"_Obduras_," Daphne finished, and the leg of the trouser slid to cover Kurama's foot, then went skintight. "Tell me how that feels."

Carefully, Kurama tried (and failed) to wiggle his toes. Then he bent his ankle, lifting his new cloven hoof. The fur slid over a bone structure that looked like those of the deer he'd eaten for centuries, and nothing hurt. He pressed two fingers to the pad under one hoof, feeling a slight pulse. It felt like his fingers were thin and tiny now.

"Strange," he told Daphne. The joint for his knee was off, too, very stiff; he hadn't even noticed his thigh being narrowed, though he could see that the base had tapered to suit the stump of his calf and his long, thin foot. "But it doesn't hurt. Do the other one."

Quietly, Daphne copied the two spells, then stood and put her wand away. "Sit a while and get used to the feeling, okay? We'll try standing in a bit."

Kurama pressed his new goat legs together, tapping the hooves lightly and getting the strangest sensations, like half of each foot was fitting between the second and third toes of the other. "I take it that's a hint for me to do a practice run on your costume?"

"Well, I suppose, since you're stuck here..." she demurred.

"Laurel, right?" Kurama asked rhetorically, taking out a slender bay leaf.

Daphne smiled as she shucked her robes. "You read the myth." Underneath, she had on a white, close-fitting shift that wouldn't get bunched up under the costume. She then dug a few sheets of parchment from the discarded robes, handing them to Kurama.

The most plausible image was on top: a loose bark dress, tattered through the skirt and coiling into one sandal, with a knee-length overrobe of interwoven leaves 'fastened' at both shoulders with tiny, pale clusters of flowers. The sketch's hair was caught up in a tangle of more leaves. The image on the second page was similar, adding a shawl-like headdress to the leafy overrobe, but a note in the lower corner marked it as a Roman style. Not that Kurama was sure why that was a problem, unless Daphne just didn't want her hair covered.

Further pages added branches or trailing roots, but Kurama discarded those with barely a glance. The weight would be ridiculous, and Daphne wouldn't be able to move easily.

Kurama tugged Daphne to stand in front of him, her knees barely touching his. Then he settled his hands on the flare of her hips, laurel leaf flat between palm and robe, and let his magic flow.

"Are you wearing supportive underthings," he asked mildly as the bodice formed, "or will I have to make some?"

"No, it's fine," Daphne answered quickly. Kurama glanced up in time to see her face flaming. "Just the dress." Kurama nodded and returned to work. After a few moments, she started to chuckle, and he paused so that the design wasn't thrown off by her breasts shaking.

"Yes?"

"Well, I wasn't paying too much attention to those old rumors," she got out, eyes bright with amusement, "but you didn't sound all that enthused about my underwear. So. Just what _are_ you 'teaching' Longbottom?"

Kurama blinked. "Not what I suspect you're suggesting," he replied.

"No?" Daphne hummed thoughtfully. "Who else do you spend a notable amount of time with...?"

_Hiei_. "Exactly," Kurama replied, starting the costume growth again. "Look at who I spent a lot of time with before coming here." Anyone at Hogwarts would think it was the other Tantei. "It's one thing to speak crudely about women in general - Inari knows my friends do - but I wouldn't recommend behaving like that towards, oh, say, Yukina."

Daphne's eyes went fractionally wider. "Oh. So you... you like Yukina?"

Kurama jerked, nearly dropping the growing dress. "No!" Hiei would kill him. Kuwabara would be crushed, and Hiei would kill him. And Yukina was like a younger sister. Gah. No. "I meant that, among my friends, it's much more prudent to be polite about girl things than get embroiled in a fight with anyone trying to defend the ladies' honor." How convenient, time to do Daphne's hair. He tugged at her shoulder with a vine, beckoning her down.

He pretended not to notice the blush that had returned to Daphne's face, the quick glance she cast towards his groin as she knelt at his cloven feet. It seemed she now wasn't so sure he wasn't interested in girls after all.

Kurama spiked a few leaf buds from a branch, and began to comb her hair up. Careful tugs, separate into sections... how did girls do this? Maybe if he twisted it around like so... yes, secure with a tightly looped branch and let a spray of leaves fall...

Just for kicks, Kurama added a thin, leafy vine spiraling down her left arm, and finished it off in a flowered bracelet. "There. Walk around a bit, see how it holds up."

Daphne stood, but instead of obeying, she held her hands out. "You too," she said, her discomfiture gone as she caught Kurama by the forearms and pulled with surprising strength. "Up you go!"

Up he went, indeed... and kept going, stumbling forward with hooves tapping jarringly against the stone floor. Kurama lurched back, Daphne let go in sheer self-preservation, and with a stomach-turning moment on the edge of balance... Kurama corrected too far. His legs went out from under him, and he landed hard on his rump.

Well. This was obviously going to take some practice. Also, "... Ouch?"

Daphne burst into helpless peals of laughter.

TBC

A/N's -

- Hermione of Troy: in Greek myth, Hermione was the eldest of the children from Helen's marriage to the king of Sparta, before Helen left for Troy. The Shakespearean namesake is a Sicilian queen in _The Winter's Tale_.

- the old rumors about Kurama are not regarding Neville, but were about Hiei. They were also mostly meant to undercut whatever influence he could gain in Slytherin. They were mentioned in Best Defense all of about once, before anyone in fandom knew anything about Blaise Zabini.


	29. Masquerade

Warnings, disclaimers, etc.

A/N's -

- aaaaaaaa I suck at parties

Ch. 29 - Masquerade

Pockets full of candy, check.

Scar plastered with makeup and effectively invisible, check.

Glasses temporarily invisible, check.

Completely confused roomful of dormmates... well, if you didn't count Hiei, who wouldn't be freed from Pomfrey's clutches for another few days, then check.

A pink lawn flamingo slammed down between Harry and the mirror, hitting the nightstand with a hollow plastic thunk.

"What do you think, Harry?" Ron hooked his thumbs in the lapels of his Muggle tuxedo, puffing out his chest. (At least, Harry thought he was doing that; the disco-era ruffled shirt sort of hid any movement there.)

"Pretty good," Harry admitted. The flared brim of the hat managed to shadow Ron's hair enough to not clash with the pale blue of the suit, and the wide white band and flamingo-pink puff of... whatever it was, it looked a pair of furry pom-poms had taken up residence in the ruffled bow... somehow made the look work. If you were aiming for 'eccentric'. Or for Martin Miggs. "No one's going to miss who you are."

Ron grinned, then sobered a bit. "What about you, mate?" he asked. "You look... I dunno."

"Costume's not finished," Harry said. "Hermione's got to cast a couple spells first." A pointed glance at the dorm made it clear why she wasn't up here doing just that. Though most everyone was dressed by now, Neville's robe was still draped over his bed, a charmed monocle hopping lazily back and forth on one cuff while Neville searched for trousers in the depths of his trunk.

Ron just shook his head. "Better be some good spells," he said. "You don't look like _anyone_."

Harry grinned. "Come on." He tossed his brush onto his bed and headed for the door. "You'll see."

The stairwell was a river of brightly-colored togas and medieval dresses, a surprising number of crowns and tiaras sparkling among the gleam of helmets and halos. (On second thought, why was he surprised that it looked like half of Gryffindor had dressed as heroes of some kind?) At the base of the stairs, the first-years had bunched up before a dark-haired queen in a deep red gown, who was waving a wand over their pockets before letting them past. A pint-sized Batman was next to last in the group, and she grinned and waved him past before familiar eyes landed on Harry.

"Checking for contraband?" Harry asked, carefully not thinking of the contents of his own pockets.

"Of course," Hermione answered simply. She caught the last boy by the shoulder, wand flicking towards him, and caught the little bottle that came sailing out of his holster. "I don't want to know," she admonished the cop sternly, before sending him off to rejoin his friends.

Ron leaned over Harry's shoulder, grinning at Hermione. "Yes you do."

"What?"

"Want to know." He reached for the little bottle, uncapped it, and sniffed. "It's not alcohol, at least."

Hermione snatched the bottle back. "Honestly! It's..." a careful whiff, "... Bubble Burps. Cute." She rolled her eyes and handed the bottle to Harry, pretending not to notice when he put it in his pocket instead of banishing it. "Well! Let's look at you," she said, eyeing Harry. "Perfect. Ron, care to step back, keep the kids from getting caught? I'd hate to ruin their costumes."

Harry grinned, feeling Ron move back up a couple steps, then stuck his hands in his pockets.

Hermione's wand tapped twice at Harry's shoulders. "_Sommarmin Feste."_ She dragged the tip of her wand down from collar to stomach, then a flick at Harry's hemline turned the black robes to an eye-smarting fuschia, covered in teal and orange fireworks that fizzed and popped distantly. "_Titiani._" A second tap to the top of Harry's head, and the faint dark fringe of his hair at the edge of his vision went a vibrant red.

"Thanks," he murmured, before turning and throwing his arms wide. "Ickle Ronniekins!" he cheered.

Ron's jaw dropped. "Bloody _hell."_

The whole thing was worth it just for the look on Ron's face, Harry decided. He grinned more widely, watching Ron's face pale, then got out of the stairway and behind Hermione. That seemed to be a signal to the kids left behind Ron, for them to give him a shove to come stumbling down the stairs. Hermione quickly checked Ron's pockets, then the kids' one by one as they tried to pass. Each candy, potion vial, and firework got checked - most of them turned out to be mild noisemakers, with a few fairy lights and the like mixed in - and then Hermione turned them over to Harry 'for disposal'.

Eventually, finally, the crowd passed, and Ron managed to get over next to Harry. "You could've gone as anything," Ron said, sounding completely at a loss. "Why _them_?"

Harry shrugged. "They're fun," he said simply. Ron made a slight gagging noise deep in his throat, so Harry quickly added, "And recognizeable, which is pretty important in getting anyone to see the costume instead of the Boy-Who-Lived." That got a more startled noise. "And can you picture the teachers when they see this?"

After a long moment, Ron started to grin.

"Yeah, exactly." McGonagall would be funny enough, but Snape was going to be downright hilarious. Mostly because any attempt to punish Harry for the costume wouldn't stick. But that reminded him... "So let's hurry up, I've got some stuff to pass back before we get to the Great Hall and Snape spots me."

Ron nodded, and they rushed out to catch up with the rest of the House.

The stream of people grew larger on the fourth floor, where the turn-off to Ravenclaw was. A lot more magic appeared in the new flood of costumes. Light effects - like Keiko, in a tattered white-and-gold kimono with very realistic flames licking at the hems and long sleeves - flickered like Snitches in the corners of Harry's vision, catching his attention and making his head jerk.

Then Ginny darted by, her own costume using the same flame effect over red-and-gold feathers, and fell in step with a watery blonde in an oddly familiar, tight blue minidress and knee-high boots. Harry could've sworn he'd seen the outfit on the telly a few times, one of the few not-quite-normal programs Petunia allowed her Dudders to watch. Not that Dudley had liked it after he'd decided there weren't enough aliens getting shot.

Passing a few pranks to kids got Harry close enough to hear the blonde calmly telling Ginny, "... a Rodden Berry, you know; they bloom in the Muggle world on weekends..."

Then they passed through the door into the Great Hall, tiny parchment pegasi diving neatly into their hands, and stepped into what looked like nothing so much as a Greek ruin.

The invisible-ceiling charms had been lowered until they brushed the tops of the windows. Several walls and all the windows were invisible as well, leaving only the bare bones of the room outlined in uneven, bleached-white pillars that reached for the starry sky. The two fireplaces on each side wall had been opened up into simple stone braziers, violet bonfires burning merrily and making the pale stonework glow. The tables were gone as well, except for a long buffet where the professors' table usually sat, stretching between the furthestmost pillars and into adjacent ruins. With all of this dotted with small trees, and lush grass carpeting the floor in deceptively uneven little hillocks, there was no trace of the usual Hall.

Students milled about the room, murmuring in quiet awe as the crowd thickened and made the room grow ever-brighter. It was nearly impossible to tell who belonged to which House; silver and golden glows seemed to be the most popular effects, but soft whites were a close second, with a scattering of pastels mixed about. Harry was guessing the colors were for deity costumes, considering McGonagall had her own golden aura, and she was definitely some sort of Roman-or-Greek war goddess.

Several of the professors didn't have the auras, but fit in near the buffet with similar cheer. Hagrid dominated one end of the table in a freshly-white beard and red suit: a Santa only about a week overdue. Next to him, Harry could see the silver tassel on Flitwick's pointed blue hat, small silver bells trimming the edge of its wide brim. In front of the buffet's centerpiece (a mountainous construction of sugar-frosted fruits, glassy honey flowers, and meringues), Dumbledore presided in a surprisingly tasteful purple frock coat, jeweled rings flashing on fingers which seemed to have somehow gotten their joints reversed.

Att the other side of the room, past a bubbly Sprout in a leafy cloak, past Hooch in an oddly Muggle-ish leather cap and goggles, next to Sinistra in a jet-and-silver Eygptian collar and headdress, Harry could just barely see into the shadowy corner with Snape.

It took a long moment to recognize the man. He'd grown a scraggly beard, and his usual blacks had been exchanged for ragged greys. A small placard hung around his neck.

Harry jabbed an elbow into Ron's side. "Hey. Look."

Ron did. Then he made a little satisfied sound. "Knows where he belongs," Ron muttered, and that was enough for Harry to recognize the Azkaban uniform.

Two seconds later, Harry knew - KNEW - whose name was on Snape's prisoner placard. "I'll kill him."

"What?"

"Snape," Harry hissed. "He's _Sirius._" As in the public's idea of Sirius, the evil dark wizard who'd love to murder them all in their own beds.

Ron stood shocked for only a moment. "That _berk_!"

-0-0-0

Kurama gingerly entered the Great Hall on cloven hooves, just in time to see Neville and Hermione dragging two fuming Weasley boys over to a cluster of Gryffindors, both boys glaring at a ragged, smirking Snape near the buffet.

... No. One Weasley, and one red-headed Potter.

A familiar aura flared, then Hiei poked Kurama in the back, tugging lightly at the cord belting his short toga. "You got a goat tail under there?"

"I didn't let the wand get _that _close." Kurama turned an arch look on Hiei, meeting amused, hard eyes under a red brocade bandanna. "Don't you look festive," Kurama added, openly giving the shorter demon a once-over. Yukina had done very well in choosing clothes similar to Hiei's own: a flared, brick-red coat weighted with tattered gold braid at the cuffs and pockets, loose trousers tucked into Hiei's own scuffed boots, and a muddy green sash holding Hiei's sword at his side. His thin shirt would've laced shut, but the string was missing.

Hiei's chest was a little less defined than Kurama remembered. Two months' convalescence would do that to even the strongest demon.

Several students jostled past them, and Kurama shrugged the thought away, turning to look over the crowd. "Do you see the others?" Usually Botan's hair was beacon enough, but it seemed like every flash of blue was either a hat or a glow effect.

"We'll run into them eventually." Hiei did not look like he was looking forward to the prospect.

"True." And the longer it took to find Yukina, Kurama bet, the longer Hiei would stay at the party. Kurama unfolded the parchment that had slid into his hand at the entrance. "There's a contest for guessing people's costumes correctly. Well that's not stacked in favor of the British Muggleborns at all. A Galleon that Miss Granger wins."

"I'm not taking that bet."

Kurama smiled. "Who do you think would be sucker enough-"

A shower of blue sparks, clanging like bells, interrupted him. Dumbledore stood on a sheered-off pillar before the buffet, oddly sober-looking before the meringue-and-honeyflower mountain. "Welcome, welcome, to the New Year's Masquerade! I am delighted to see so many wonderful costumes. You have, dear students, quite outdone yourselves. Now, I am certain most of you wish to explore the delights awaiting you in tonight's expanded Hall... or, at least, those filling our buffet. A few pertinent announcements, first, though. As you may have noticed, there is a costume-guessing contest. The prize," and he flicked his wand, a gaudy paper gift bag floating up to hover next to him, "is this advance copy of Kildejoy Mockparts' _Muggical Me: A Comedy_, which is not due to be released until the thirteenth. There is also a raffle, with tickets for three Sickles each. The top prize for that is, I believe, a voucher to waive one homework assignment." (_Oh no!_ a girl wailed up near the front.) "And, lastly, Professor Burbage has set up a... moo-vee?... corner, to show a selection of Muggle Portrait Plays beginning in half an hour. The schedule is posted by the fire to my left. I am quite looking forward to _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_, myself!"

"He would," Draco muttered from behind Kurama.

Kurama pretended not to hear him, musing aloud, "I wonder if the Weasley twins would like it?"

Draco snapped silent.

Kurama quickly lost him in the flow of the crowd as they descended upon the buffet. Plates of paper-thin china (likely smothered in Unbreakable Charms) sat in half a dozen stacks along the tables, evenly spaced between hors d'oeuvres and sweets, small bite-sized foods all leaping for the plates as soon as children grabbed them.

Kurama ducked a flying shrimp, overbalanced, and stumbled against a Chinese-robed, monkey-tailed Yuusuke. "I see Keiko picked your costume," Kurama said, snickering as he pushed himself upright. "You look positively classical, Monkey King."

"Laugh it up, toga-boy. All I gotta do is eat, sleep, and kick ass." Yuusuke's eyes dropped to Kurama's goat legs, then back up. "What about you?"

"Apparently, I'm meant to drink, sleep around, and be a bad influence on impressionable young boys." Next to him, Hiei snorted.

"Yeah?" Yuusuke's grin widened. "So how many of those are true?"

"Hm, in general or in the past decade?"

Yuusuke laughed and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

-0-0-0

By the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the movie glen, the party was in full swing.

Ron still seemed a little dazed as they padded back along the grassy paths towards the buffet, passing by a group of first-years giggling and snatching candied fruit out of one of the violet fires. "Muggles did all that with _clay_?" Harry felt rather the same. He'd hardly ever seen a movie as it was, only snippets of Aunt Petunia's bland romances and Dudley's explosion-filled action flicks. Ron added, "But the skeleton! And the ghost dog! And-"

"It takes a lot of patience," Hermione said.

"I'll bloody bet!"

They came out at the edge of the dance floor, near a circle of giggling young Hufflepuffs doing the chicken dance.

Hermione looked over the crowd, then smiled and raised a hand. "Neville!"

Neville hurried over, and as he approached Harry felt a bit of concern. His dormmate looked a little ashen behind his smile, eyes a bit wild and spooked. "You okay, Nev?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm..." Neville pinked a little. "They're telling scary stories back there," he said, jerking his thumb towards the line of trees opposite the movies. "Really good ones. Effective, I mean. I think they said it's a Japanese cooling charm, actually. Hundred moaning gattery or something."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Really? I'd love to see it-"

"Why would you need a cooling charm in winter?" Ron interrupted.

Neville shrugged, his monocle bouncing to the other side of his nose. "I think they forgot to mention that part to the headmaster. And you don't want to see," he told Hermione. "Hiei's way too good at scary stories. It's like he was there for them."

"Maybe he was," Harry said quietly. Who knew how much he might've seen around Kurama...? At Neville and Hermione's odd looks, he quickly busied himself scooping up punch. "Here," he said, holding a glass out towards his friends.

"Thanks," Hermione said. She took a sip, then paused and frowned at her cup. "I blame your brothers," she said to Ron.

"Wha?"

"They are terrible, terrible influences. Try it, I think it's got Firewhiskey."

"How do you even know what Firewhiskey tastes like?!"

"I've lived through _how _many Quidditch victory parties?" Hermione asked pointedly. "And exams-are-over parties, and birthdays, and it's-Friday-or-Saturday, and Percy's-not-here-to-shut-us-down parties...?"

"Well if you put it like _that_..."

-0-0-0

A blond Ravenclaw in a blue minidress drifted by, carrying a small handheld box with dials and bronze mesh on it. "Luna's Log, stardate 1997.0.0," she murmured to it. "I continue my observations of the multispecies calendrical celebration, in hopes of obtaining more readings of their unique insights into the laws of physics. I have yet to locate my captain or crewmates..."

-0-0-0

The night wore on. By the time the tower bells began to strike for the New Year, Kurama was feeling nicely buzzed. He abandoned the Calvinball match and wandered over to the dance floor. Hm, who to dance with...?

"Kurama!"

Kurama looked over to see Kuwabara and Yukina circle into the fringes of the crowd. He hadn't seen either of them all night, and barely recognized Kuwabara. The taller boy's hair had been straightened and left to fall, instead of curled up into his usual pompadour, and had been charmed to a rich brown with only the barest traces of ginger-red. Kurama certainly couldn't have identified the black vest and gunslinger belt as any particular character, if Yukina hadn't been next to him in the iconic white robe and twin buns of Princess Leia.

"Come join us," Yukina said, even as Kuwabara got an arm around Kurama's back and hefted most of his weight off his feet. "Someone's cast a Roving Ice Charm on the floor," she added in explanation.

"You'll never stay up without a hand," Kuwabara agreed.

"Playing the part of the Force for me, then?" Kurama asked.

"We're a bit low on Jedi at the moment," Yukina said, smiling. "Hiei refused to be Luke for us." She took Kurama's free hand, and Kuwabara spun them into a clumsily-modified waltz of sorts. Very few people noticed: they were hardly the only dancers who weren't in a couple, and by now Kurama doubted anyone old enough to care was completely sober. "Where is my brother, anyway?" she asked, voice going even warmer over the word 'brother' as if it would never get old.

"Up in the rafters over the buffet," Kurama answered. "You can probably see him if-" Kuwabara spun them all again, and Kurama momentarily felt his hooves slip over the floor. He tipped his chin at the charmed walls, up where the ceiling turned invisible. "There, the lumpy shadow above the first pillar right of the moon."

Yukina peered over her shoulder and smiled. "It's nice to see he's feeling better."

"He won't be if he keeps stealing the fluffy sugar things off Tangerine Mountain."

The bell tolled out a final time, and... as the doleful sound faded entirely into silence... Kuwabara abruptly slipped on the floor, sending the three of them tumbling in a pile of elbows and pulled hair and scrapes. Kurama managed to untangle himself first, pushing himself partway up on the rough stone. Then he paused, and patted the floor under his hand. Rough stone.

"Kuwabara, the Roving Ice charm..."

"It's somewhere over there," Kuwabara replied, waving a hand off towards the far end of the dance floor. "Something's coming."

"... What?"

Kuwabara pushed himself up, eyes dark and pinned towards the southeast.

"Something," he repeated hoarsely, "is very, very wrong."

A/N's -

- Luna is in a Trek uniform. Harry vaguely recognizes it, because in the first book, "Dudley had never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer". Therefore, Petunia must tolerate scifi.

- I don't actually endorse underage or irresponsible drinking.

* * *

AND NOW A SAD ANNOUNCEMENT.

This series will probably not be completed. I've moved on from the fandom and the story, and cannot write any more of it. A synopsis of the remainder of the plot can be found in two entries at my livejournal, joisbishmyoga dot livejournal dot com slash 457869 dot html and joisbishmyoga dot livejournal dot com slash 458178 dot html

I'm very sorry. Thank you for all your kind comments over the years, and I hope you've enjoyed reading this work.


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